


Pinion

by Batwynn



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Wings, Alvheim, Bonding, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Elves, Freyja - Freeform, Freyr - Freeform, FrostIron - Freeform, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, Howard stark is not the biggest evil, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Obadiah is a dick, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Self-Mutilation, Slight Wing Kink, Soulmates, Winged Tony, Wings, tws
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-02-14 20:51:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2202681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batwynn/pseuds/Batwynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony has a secret, a secret that grows from his back and no one’s supposed to know about it. Except, people keep finding out, and somehow he almost always end up being killed every time. At least Loki tries to kill him for other reasons…</p><p>Aka: The one where Tony gets rescued by the last person he wants to be rescued by, and he kind of sucks at flying without his suit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apocatits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocatits/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Please do not share, repost, translate, or create printed copies of this fic without my express permission.

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

_______

They first appeared on his tenth birthday after a very long day of games and laughter and for some god-awful reason, a clown. It was a very long day for him, not _only_ because it was his birthday, but because his father had decided today was the day he grew up. So the laughter and games and the horrible clown were actually there for the other children, while Tony Stark was expected to sit and smile, and watch them all have fun.

They all left around sundown, just as Jarvis and the maids had begun setting the dinner table in the dinning room. No one was allowed to stay for supper, because as Howard plainly put it, 'dinner is for family.'

So, with a heavy heart and a newfound fear of clowns, Tony sat at his father's right hand side and tried to smile back at his mother sitting across from him. Howard had begun to talk, as he had a habit of doing so during most of their dinners, and Tony tried not to tune him out. His own mind was always racing, always finding connections and then coming up with shorter, faster ways to get the same conclusion. His father was the same, which was why they often butted heads, or so Tony liked to imagine. They both ran with ideas at the same time, and ended up missing what the other was saying. That was the logical conclusion.

Like right now, Howard was speaking, and Tony was distracted by an improved idea of a handheld device that shoots electricity. He had been so focused on the shape of the thing, the shorter, faster connection, that he failed to hear his father's question.

" _Anthony Howard Stark_!"

His full name meant he had clearly misstepped, and for an already miserable day, Tony could only expect it to get worse from here on out.

"I'm sorry, I was—"

"Not listening, as usual," Howard snapped, "No matter how I try to teach you, how is it you never pay attention? What do we pay that rotten school for, I honestly wonder."

Tony looked down at his plate immediately, knowing the question was both rhetorical and meant to draw an argument from him. He loved his school, it was the only place where he felt like he could really push himself. At home, he was encouraged to think, obviously, but to think in only one direction. Howard's direction.

"Darling, he does very well in school, you have seen his grades," Tony's mother interjected in his place, earning her a secret smile from Tony.

"I've seen them," Howard agreed in a huff, "But I can't help but wonder how he achieves it, sometimes. You better not be cheating, boy."

Tony jerked his head up, and there was no power in the world that could stop him from expressing his anger in that moment.

_Cheating?! Him? After all the work and time he'd put into his school work, extra hours just to be sure he was right. To be sure he was more than right, that he brought something entirely new to the subject. After all this, his father says he's cheating?_

He stood abruptly, sending his chair falling backwards against the thick carpet. There's no satisfying crash, nothing to dull that wave of pure rage flowing through him. So, he let it all out.

"How _dare_ you!?" he bellowed in his young, high pitched voice. "How dare you say that!"

Howard was always quick to anger, and even quicker when it was Tony being, well, anything but silent and agreeable.

His voice came out lined with ice, and Tony regretted even breathing in this moment. Ever the disappointment, ever the failure.

"You are _not_ to speak to me like this, ever again. You do _not_ raise your voice at me, in my house, anywhere! Do you understand?"

"I do-" Tony began to reply, only to stop when a gut-wrenching pain flared up in his back. More specifically, his shoulder blades felt like they'd caught on fire. It was so sharp, and sudden, he actually cried out when he usually handled pain much better. Especially around Howard.

"Anthony?!" his mother gasped, already rushing around the table to him.

Howard scoffed at her, "Oh ignore it, it's just a little act to get attention. He just doesn't like the _negative_ attention."

Tony wanted to say, 'no, but who does?' or maybe, 'Dad, i'm dying.' But he didn't , he just screamed, because the pain was getting worse, and there was definitely something wet dribbling down his back, now. He swung his hands back as best he can, twisting his arms around to try to reach his shoulder blades. He couldn't and the movement only seemed to make things worse, sending another blinding flash of pain throughout his entire body.

"Wh-what... what is t-this?!" he whimpered, hunching over into his mother's arms. She let out a horrified noise and turned to her husband.

Something in her voice was so desperate, Tony started to really worry. "He needs a doctor! He's bleeding, Howard."

"Let me see," his dad ordered, pushing her to the side gently, and lifting Tony's shirt.

He couldn't help it, Tony screamed again, and there was a moment of blackness around him before the pain came rushing right back in. Howard was saying something in an urgent tone to his wife, and Tony felt her shift away and leave the room.

"Anthony... what did you do?" he asked slowly.

"M-me?"

"What did you _do_?"

Tony whimpered and tried to see what his dad was referring to. Just on the edge of his vision, there was a bloody mass resting against his shoulder. He let out a terrified squeak and tried to get away from the thing attacking him. It seemed to move with him as he flailed. He twisted more, ignoring the way his father hissed, 'disgusting', and finally got a good look at it.

It was a wing. A small, presumably white wing, lost under all the blood and what looked like chunks of flesh. It was stretching out from his back and sticking against his body. It was wide enough now to be seen, but Tony simply could not fathom its existence.

"Anthony, come with me."

Tony blinked at his father, so lost in thought and calculations, and questions he almost didn't feel the pain anymore.

"Why?" he asked, not fully understanding the tone his father was using.

"Do as your told," Howard snapped, pulling him up by his arm and leading him out of the room and down the hallway. Tony whimpered as each step jostled his wings and pulled on the muscles stretched over his shoulder blades.

"Wha-what are you going to do?"

Howard did not answer him, but continued to march him down to the basement. Down to his lab.

Tony paled, and tried to pull back as they reached the door to Howard's private staircase that lead down to it.

"N-no... I don't want to go down there!"

Howard yanked him forward, ignoring his babble of pleas and promises. Tony gave up as the chrome tables came into view, and fell into silent crying even as his father hoisted him up onto one of them.

He sat, and waited while his ears filled with the sounds of tools, sharp tools, being moved around and sanitized. The swish of Howard's lab coat, the squeak of the wheels on a cart, metal against metal, and the sound of gloves snapping against skin.

Howard gave no warning before jabbing a needle into his back, right under the wing's joints. Tony whimpered and asked one last time, "What are you doing?"

Howard came around and leaned closer to his face than Tony could ever remember him coming. His eyes were cold, his voice steel.

"This never happened. There were no wings on your back. Do you understand?"

Tony stared up at him and simply nodded. There were no wings on his back.

This never happened.  
______________________

It _did_ happen.

In fact, it happened a week later, and a week after that, and a week after that. The only lull in growing the wings seemed to happen when Tony reached such a high point of stress, he fell into a small coma. His father had locked him away, called the school and removed Tony from their records. Meanwhile, Tony remained lost to the world for weeks and weeks. It wasn't until nearly a month later that he finally woke up, and instantly fell prey to the pain again. The wings were back the second he opened his eyes and drew his first unassisted breath.

Maria was there, and so was Jarvis. Tony was both pleased and unhappy to see them at the same time. Please that they were there, soothing him with soft touches to his arms, shushing him with kind words. But there was the lingering shadow of his father, and the fact that he wasn't there right then did not mean the excruciating pain was not on its way.

"C-can I keep them?" he asked his mother, once they had filled out to their fullest once more. They spread no wider than his arms, and were rather small and weak looking when Tony inspected them in the mirror. Flapping them seemed to be beyond his control at the moment, and Tony opted to leave them alone until he was sure he could have the time to learn more about them.

"Darling..." his mother said, and Tony knew that was the way she said 'no'.

"Why not? Everyone at school will love them! I'll be popular!"

"Darling," she said again, and now Tony knew it wasn't just about the wings. "You can't go back to school, i'm afraid. It's just not safe there, who knows what could happen?"

"I'll be _fine_!" Tony wailed, sitting up in his bed again and clutching at his mother's hands desperately. "All my friends are there, you can't-"

"It's been done," Howard spoke from the doorway.

Tony looked up to see him wheeling in the cart covered in tools. He swallowed and dared himself to ask, "Dad, c-could I please... keep them? Only, It really hurts to have them cut off like that, and my friends won't mind them. They're really cool-"

"Anthony, no one will see these... things," he said in that same disgusted tone as the first night he saw them. "They are not 'cool', they are a mutation, an abomination of science and nature. They should not exists, and they _will_ not exists. Not in my household."

Tony shuddered, but closed his eyes and nodded in agreement. They were disgusting, not cool. No one could stand to look at them, if his own father couldn't.

So Tony turned around on his bed, laying flat on his stomach as he had so many times before, and waited for his father to cut his wings off.  
___________

Seven years later, Tony tried to fly for the first time. Seven long years of pain, week after week, and no end in sight. Seven years to get used to the pain, to grow to like the pain because, hell, at least he was feeling _something._

Seven years to learn his father never liked him, never mind loved him, and seven years to grow to hate him just as fucking much.

Today was actually seven years and 14 days, because 14 days ago, Tony's parents died.

Today? Today, Tony was going to fly. He had let them grow out the first week after their deaths, and had never bothered with the familiar ritual of brutally cutting them off. Why should he? No one was left to see them anymore. It wasn't as though he had any friends, or family, or even Jarvis...

No, not even him. The old man died before his parents did, nice and quietly in his sleep. Tony had never felt more betrayed in his entire life. It was irrational, and he knew it, but it didn't change the empty gap left in his place.

He stretched his wings out, and teetered on the edge of the building. The wings were not white, as he originally though all those years ago, but rather a light golden color that shifted and shimmer between lighter shades to an almost deep copper tone. Tony tried to smile ruefully and maybe it was a little too wide thanks to the amount of alcohol in his system. A little too silly for his somber mood and current position. Right on the edge, fifty floors up, or rather, fifty one since no one counted the 13th floor. He had been sure to use one of his father's buildings, for insurance reasons. Because if there was anything his father had taught him, it was to be careful and responsible.  
To hide who he was behind a smile, to smooth over anything less-than-pleasant with quick words, and to be the perfect little carbon-copy of Howard himself.

Well, Tony failed at that last one, at least. He Liked to think he was nothing like his father, as far apart from that image as possible. Only, he wasn't. He was taking over the company under the wing of his father's oldest friend, and generally becoming pretty much the same person. Times were changing, for sure, but the world would always need weapons, and if the Stark name meant anything, it meant a good weapon in your hands.

So, maybe today was less of an experiment in flying, and more an experiment in the other conclusion, the one where he turned into a human pancake fifty one floors below. Either way, it sounded like a good way to celebrate his upcoming birthday, alone on top of a building.

His wings flexed again, fluttered, flapped, twitched, did things wings did that Tony really had no idea why they did them. Was he going to start running the feathers between his teeth to clean them, soon? Maybe he would spontaneously loose control of his bowels over people's cars too.

"Well, it can't be any worse than standing up here," he muttered, and threw himself forward off the building's ledge. Someone shouted, but it was too late, Tony was falling.

He was really falling, rolling around through the air as his wings tried to catch the updraft, and only seemed to bend out of his control. He tried again to even out as he passed what felt like the 20th floor for sure. The wind finally caught with a painful jerk, ripping the wings up and nearly dislocating something in his back. With a string of colorful swears, Tony let hims self drift through the wind channel along the side of the building. Everything ached already, which made the whole, 'I'm flying' thing a little less thrilling.

There was more shouting, this time from below, and Tony spared a glance at the bodies some ways below him. They looked funny, like little dolls he had seen his friend's play with back in his days in preschool. He never had dolls, or toys really. He had tools, always tools, and that was fine. It didn't matter anymore, he was flying, or drifting, actually.

Really drifting, like, _away_ from the building.

Tony panicked and tried to direct himself closer to the windows again. He failed, as he honestly expected he would, and ended up floating right out over the street. As soon as he broke out of the wind channel, he started to tip and drive downwards.

"Shit!" he cursed, trying to keep himself stretched out as much as possible. It seemed to help enough to get him away from traffic, but his decent was too fast, and where were the breaks on this thing?

Too late, too much to drink, and not enough planning in the world could stop him now. Tony hit the sidewalk with a wet thud joined by a nasty crack of something breaking. He let out a mildly-hysterical laugh and pulled himself to his feet while ignoring the people beginning to gather around him.

"Tony!"

He frowned. What was _that_ voice doing in this crowd? He turned, and before he could even open his mouth, large hands were pushing him into a car amidst his pained yelping.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Obi snarled at him, glancing out the windows as the driver took off.

"Flying," Tony answered through gritted teeth. His wrist hurt, which meant that was probably the thing that went 'crack' during his graceful landing.

"Yeah, I saw that," Obi admitted, and give Tony a look he had never seen before. His alcohol-addled brain decided he didn't like that, and promptly made his wings flutter in response.

"Stop that."

"I'm not doing it on-"

"Just stop it," the balding man ordered. " stop jumping off buildings, stop trying to fly, and cut off those damned things before you alert the media. Today was dangerous enough. No one recognized you, at least, I don't think they did."

Tony shook his head, his thoughts becoming fuzzy and unfocused the longer he sat there and the longer he didn't get more to drink. He was going to have a hangover if he didn't get another one-or six- in him soon. But, that didn't seem to be an option at this point, with the direction Obi was heading.  
_  
Cut off his wings? Wasn't that what Howard always told him to do? He had been doing it himself since he was 12, no more help from daddy anymore. No more help at all._

Still, their faces when they saw him, the crowd of civilians gathering around him. Even as drunk as he was, Tony had seen those looks of horror, disgust, even fear. He fucked up, and he knew it. Obi was right, just like his dad was.

Tony was just a freak, and no amount of flying, or falling with style, was going to change that.

"Okay," he slurred in agreement, "I'll cut them off again."

"Good, and keep them off. No more flying, you hear me?"

"No more flying. Never again."  
_________________

"You're late."

"It's my jet, I can't be late."

He hated flying, but he was kind of forced to do it for his work. You know, big name weapons can't demonstrate themselves. At least Tony could fly in style, and he sure as hell was going to, no holds bared. The stripper pole was new, he honestly couldn't tell if he liked it or not yet. The strippers kept falling off with every little bump of turbulence.

The flight itself was actually pretty short, but he was dreading going, anyway. He hated heat, hated the sand, and the sun, and the smells. He really hated camels, so hopefully none showed their faces while he was there. Otherwise, he might feel inclined to test his new weapons out on them. Great for his mood, not so great for the soldier's moral.  
It would just be a quick demo, out of the hum-v, show off a little, get a drink or three, back in the hum-v, and then a jet home. Simple, easy, no bumps in the road. No bumps, or bombs either.

Tony really should have taken the no-fun-v, because suddenly boring and hum-drum sounded very appealing in the face of a shower of bullets. The icing on the cake was the nice little missile with his name on it, and no amount of whiskey could conjure up a hallucination as real at that.

No, it certainly wasn't a dream, because the damn thing blew up in his face, and everything after that was darkness.

The lights came back on in a haze of sound and pain, and confusion. The pain was something new, combined with a strange new weight in his chest, and why was it so hard to breathe?

"Ah, you are awake," a voice said, as a warped, bug-eyed face appeared over him. Tony swore and tried to get away from the thing, when a thin, but firm hand gripped his arm. "Stay still, you don't want to rip that out."

"Rip... out? Rip what out?" Tony asked slowly, his mouth filled with that fuzzy, cotton feeling. His eyes traveled down to that nasty weight in his chest, and spotted the cables running from a bandage spanning across his chest. He followed them to a car battery, and then to the bug-eyed man who was actually just some guy in glasses. The disappearance of the haze was an improvement for recognition, but Tony was kind of lamenting its loss, considering what he now saw.  
They were in a cave, obviously those were stalagmites and stalactites all those fun rock formations that came with caves. There actually wasn't a lot of them, since most of the space was cleared out to make room for what looked unpleasantly like dirty torture equipment. The small germophobe inside of Tony squirmed at the sight of some of the things lining the walls.

 

"Uh, okay, so car battery, chest..." he muttered as he tried to work it out, and then panicked when the only connection he could make was that he was somehow running off its power and that was wrong, wrong, wrong. Tony tore the bandages away, wheezing loudly, and he really didn't care enough right now to keep the keening sounds from escaping him. Because...

Because he had a hole in his chest, albeit it, a hole filled with some sort of round metal object that looked and felt an awful lot like a, "magnet?"

'You are correct," the man said with a faint smile. He continued, dropping the smile for a small grimace, "please forgive me for such sloppy work, it was all I had on hand when they demanded I save you. Not that I would not have tried to even if they hadn't asked."

Tony half listened, and half planned, and maybe half panicked. No, that wasn't proportionate, he was about 90% panic, and maybe the rest was listening at this point.

"Who's 'they' and who are you?"

The man leaned back, studying Tony's face before his eyes flickered to something behind him. "They would be the Ten Rings, I would be Yinsen, and you are Tony Stark."

"What gave it away?"

"We have met before, actually," Yensin admitted, giving Tony another one of his small smiles. "but otherwise, I-"

There was a shout and a babble of angry voices coming closer, and Yensin yanked Tony off the bed with far more strength than Tony would have expected of such a frail-looking man.

"What's going on?"

Yensin pulled him along side of him and commanded in a whisper, "Do as I do."

"Do wha-"

The angry voices now had angry faces to match as a parade of men came through the metal door. Tony nearly winced at the tone of the one who was obviously in charge, and why the fuck didn't Tony take more language classes? If he ever got out of this, _when_ he got out of this, he was taking all the classes.  
The men were shouting at Yensin more than him, probably because he seemed to know what they were saying, and the conversation was mostly once sided, anyway. It was until the man jabbed a meaty finger into Tony's chest that he realized they were talking about him.

Out of the side of his mouth, he mumbled, "What's going on? Are they talking about me?"

Yensin didn't answer him, but spoke once again to the men in front of them. There was a nasty leer forming on the leader's face, and he kept glancing at Tony like... no, he kept looking past Tony at something. If he was being honest, which he was, it was starting to scare him a little. Was there something behind him? The torture rack? Oh god, that _was_ behind him, wasn't i?

"What are they talking about? Do they know who I am?"

Yensin smiled at the man before him as the leader moved to talk to the others around him. His smile was sharp, and Tony was good enough at recognizing a fake expression to log the fear hidden away.

"They are talking about you, somewhat."

"What do they want?" Tony asked, glancing at the men deep in conversation.

"They want you," Yensin answered, "or... well... they want your wings."

Tony's battery-powered heart skipped a beat, and as he rose his head to look at his kidnappers, he realized they had stopped talking. They had stopped doing anything other than to stare at the large, golden wings spread out behind Tony.

"Oh... shit."


	2. Rise Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things could be worse, and so, because Fate's a bitch, they get worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half asleep writing, again.

Yinsen saved his life by way of bandages and antiseptics. He also saved Tony's life by spinning the words that their captors wanted to hear and offering up something _much_ better than Tony's wings. Because the first three times they removed them, the wings rotted too fast for the scientist to perform any of the experiments they demanded of him. Tony never did know exactly what happened to them back when his father removed his wings, and now he could find some small well of satisfaction that Howard never really got his hands on them all those years ago. It was a nice big 'fuck you' to the man who hurt him more than anyone else ever could.

 

The satisfaction was short lived, though, because after three more surgical attempts with the wings, they tried another way. They decided to really get to the  _root_  of the problem, pushed Yinsen aside and started digging deeply into his back. This left large, gaping wounds and fractures across his shoulder blades. There was so much blood, too much pain, and Tony was sent screaming his way into unconsciousness. 

 

By the time he was back in reality, the wings were preserved in a jar on the work bench. His small golden wings, only a day old looking so broken and torn up inside the yellow embalming liquid. According to Yinsen, he attempted a few tests that came to nothing, or, at least he pretended they did.  He claimed contamination, damage to the tissue thanks to the formaldehyde. He was probably right, but  Tony had no idea either way.

 

He was still forced to stay on the cot the whole time, doped up on drugs and laying on his stomach with a crick in his neck from turning it to stare at the jar. Looking at his wings like that kind of made him want to vomit or cry or something, and he was actually glad when they finally carted them off to do whatever they wanted to do with them.

 

 The wounds were infected and started to hurt a few days later, the stitches popping open as bloody puss oozed down his back. His inner germaphobe wasn't wrong about sanitary conditions after all, and Tony giggled to himself deliriously as he watched the hallucinations of gold flickering at the edge of his vision turn into a face and then disappear. Something was there—or someone—then nothing. Oh well.

 

 

Then there was Yinsen again, clearer now and speaking in a hurried tone go the leader who dragged them both outside to show him his arsenal, regardless of Tony's swaying and muttering. He sharpened up when he saw said arsenal, piled high with weapons that had his own damn name plastered all over them. 

 

"How did he get these?" He rasped to the scientist.

 

"I think it is safe to say, from you." 

 

"I didn't sell these to them. We don't do deals with terrorist organizations." 

 

"That you know of."

 

Tony simply grimaced, any reply cut off by the babble of words from the fat leader guy. He sounded excited, and Tony was in the dark as to why until he heard the word 'Jericho' in there, and suddenly he knew  _exactly_  what this was about. 

 

"He wants you to—"

 

"Build him a weapon, yeah," Tony said with a small smile. "anything else?" 

 

"That he will let us go when you complete it." 

 

Tony smiled wider, shook the rough hand offered to him, and said, "no he won't." 

 

"No," Yinsen agreed with a similar smile, "he won't." 

 

* * *

 

 

At the end of the next week, the scientist cut off Tony's wings without ceremony, and they got back to work. He ached constantly now, in a way he never had trouble with before. First there was his back, scarred now from their not-so-careful attempts at removing his wings. It wasn't the worst of it, though, because there was the new shiny thing in his chest, his baby arc reactor. It was a brilliant bit of science, if he did say so himself, and wasn't all that unlike miniaturizing a hydrogen bomb and shoving it in his chest. Just as dangerous, and now in it came in 'fun size'!

 

Tony had to create the cavity for it to rest inside without direct contact with his organs, which meant more of his sternum cut away to make room for the external metal casing. Yinsen did all the bloody work, and a lot of the tech work too, thankfully. And inn the end, it was beautiful, functional, and fucking _painful_. 

 

Why? Because metal is heavy, and with no real support other than what was left of his sternum, it weighed on his lungs and ribs in a bad way. His lung capacity was half of what it was before, and the extra weight often sent him stumbling off balance like he was drunk. Which, he wished he was, and while he was wishing, he kind of wanted to see Pepper suddenly. Or, maybe not. Even his imagination knew what kind of pained expression she would show if she saw him right now, the kind of expression he never wanted to see on her. So, setting wishing aside for reality, the reactor was going to take some getting used to. Not that Tony had the _time_ for hole-in-the-chest rehab, they needed to get out before one or both of them were killed, and his wings gave him an idea. 

 

 

 

Time, that's what they really needed, and what they quickly ran out of. After the threats against Yinsen, Tony knew they didn't have much longer before they followed through. The man they had thought was the leader, was clearly not half as terrifying as the bald one who looked like he knew _exactly_ what they were doing, which was stalling.

 

"We need more time," Yinsen spoke to the computer screen, watching the green lines of code move by too slowly.

 

"Stick to the plan!" 

 

But no, they really did need more time, and Yinsen was a crazy bastard who took off out the door with an automatic rifle, screaming his head off and shooting into the rock. Tony screamed after him, knowing who and what was out there. That was why he built the damn suit, which was still in here, loading up, being fucking useless. 

 

 _Not for long_ , he thought as voices came closer, and Tony tried not to think what that meant for Yinsen.

 

They screamed when he hit them, and even as they fired on him, Tony could see the fear and confusion in their eyes. Bullets ricocheted off of the metal encasing his body, some landing in stone, others flesh. He almost laughed as he barreled his way through, the sick pleasure of revenge coiling up in his stomach and feeding him much energy. It didn't last long, though, because as he reached the fist signs of daylight, he found the crazy bastard. There was Yinsen, all broken and still honest as the day they met. 

 

"This was always the plan, Stark." 

 

 

"This was always the plan." 

 

 _'It was never the plan_ ,' he wanted to say, but Yinsen was already gone, off to see his family again at last.

 

Escape was something he could do without feelings. So he allowed the soothing wave of numbness wash over him as he set fire to everything in sight. Fire was like the rage he should be feeling, and maybe a little reckless with all these explosives around. He could die right here and now, but he was numb, and at least he could take these bastards out with him.

 

Escape was easy, in the end. The landing not so much. In fact, sand was actually not that cushioning when you hit it at high velocity. Still, he was alive and not in a cave anymore, so there was that. It felt like miles later when a helicopter went flying over him and laughter burst forth from his cracked lips when it landed near by. He sounded crazy, a little hysterical, about to cry or scream or something loud like that.

 

Thank god for Rhodey. 

Thank god for Yinsen. 

Thank god for  _me_.

 

 _I wonder what they did with my wings?_ He thought, slumping into his friends shoulder without an ounce of shame. He had been manly enough for one day, now he needed to fall apart a little. The way Rhodey grabbed his shoulders, bringing him in for the same one armed hug he'd always given him, reminded Tony that he was real and that he could feel things again.

 

When his friend pulled back, he said, "You're crying," without sounding completely judgmental. 

 

"There's sand in my eye."

 

"Uh huh." 

 

"I'm tired."

 

"Now that one I believe," Rhodey said with a grin, and helped him towards the helicopter and back to reality.

* * *

 

 

When the plane landed, Pepper's face was exactly how he imagined it, and it bothered him. He pretended it didn't, 'Tony Stark doesn't do the feelings', and set right in on making demands after teasing her, just a little. It was burgers and, no, not what anyone expected, a press conference.

 

 Pepper looked at him for a long moment after that and then asked in an odd tone, "Should I call up someone for a book deal?"

 

"A book deal? Do people still read books? For what, anyway?"

 

"For your story, and yes us regular humans still read books."

 

"My story is mine," he replied, his grin sharper than he meant it to be. "And also, for all you tree loving people out there, you're pretty big hypocrites with your mausoleums full of books. Morbid hypocrisy." 

 

"Tony—"

 

"So, how about those burgers?" 

 

He got four.

 

He also lied to Obi about how many he had, and was feeling pretty good about being back in reality again with his cheeseburgers and his new mission in life, until Obadiah touched him. 

 

_Bad, bad, bad!_

 

It was the same kind of one armed hug that used to feel fatherly and now just felt _wrong_. Like something nasty was crawling under his skin the second Obi's wide hand closed on Tony's shoulder and dragged him in next to him. Every cell in his body was screaming 'run away!' and for one horrible moment, Tony swore his wings were going to burst out from his back.

 

 

But they didn't, so he smiled and smoothly worked his way out from under Obadiah's arm and into the spotlight.

 

* * *

 

 

The morning had been going as planned, which meant he was going to be fashionably late to just about everything he was supposed to arrive at, which wasn't much since Obi told him to lay low. Pepper had started chiding him in a gentle way that she had been using more often since he got back. Especially after he announced the end of Stark Industries involvements in the weapons industry. He had a feeling it stemmed from that wave of pity from watching the obnoxious guy on tv smash a mug over and over again while yelling about how _stupid_ he was.

 

"Tony, you don't need to put on a show when no one's watching," she reminded over the com. "We could have had this done hours ago." 

 

"You know I hate paperwork and I'm busy, why don't you come down here like you usually do?" 

 

"I have a present for you that—you know what, fine, I'm coming down." 

 

Tony grinned to himself and flicked closed the designs of the new suit he was working on. It had been something gnawing at his mind since he got back, like a song or phrase that won't leave your head until you _did_ something about it. Well, he was doing something about it, he just wasn't sure why. What were his priorities, anymore? The first suit was his escape, and escape had been priority one. Now? Now he was thinking about how it felt to fly, the possibilities of loop-de-loops and shorter travel time, a chance to propel himself through the air without fear of being seen as a freak. Technology was fascinating, it drew people in, physical mutations drew the wrong kind of attention, and Tony was not running a circus here. 

 

And dammit, he just wanted to fly, but he also had weapons on his mind, specifically weapons for himself and not for the terrorists which was kind of the whole point of his redirection of the company. He could here Pepper's 'hypocrite' speech already, but you could take the man out of the weapons industry, but you can't take the weapons out of a man. Or something, his analogies needed some work. 

 

"Obadiah left a few messages about the board of directors," Pepper's voice interrupted his attempts at amending his analogy. "And we still need to talk  to Agent—" 

 

"I'm busy, Obi can clog up the leak in the dam without me."  

 

Something brown and rectangular was placed on his desk just within his peripheral vision. Curiosity made him finally put his tools down to look at it, but the cup of espresso on top stole the show, and the brown box was soon forgotten in the onslaught of dropped stocks, negative media coverage and  _Tony, what did you do?_

 

* * *

 

 

His first flight was beyond amazing, the definition of exhilarating. He had never felt so alive in his life—well, no, there was the one other time he flew and it felt like this, but Tony didn't like remembering anything from  _that_  period of his life. The important thing was that the feel was the same, he recognized it like he was sliding into his natural place. In the sky, lights spread out below like stars and the stars themselves were so much closer, like he could just reach them. As far as bad ideas go, flying that high was maybe on his top ten worst ideas, but he wasn't dead, so there was that.

 

Technical difficulties aside, it was a successful first flight, and even ruining his Shelby Cobra was worth it, a little. Okay, he might have shed a tear over that but it was his own damn fault for forgetting gravity still applied to him. It felt good, that's all that mattered. He _actually_ felt good for the first time in a long time. 

 

* * *

 

 

Obadiah leaned on him, arm clasped tight around his shoulder in that  _fatherly_  hug, and said, "who do you think locked you out?" 

 

* * *

 

 

If he thought flight felt amazing, shooting down those kidnapping terrorist bastards was even better. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that there was something wrong about that, but he didn't care when he had them lined up in front of him. Then again, he didn't exactly have time to think about it after, when he was holding on to the bottom of a jet and being targeted by another jet, oh and he was sort of on the phone, too. Thank god for Rhodey, again. He really needed to buy his friend a car.

 

All in all, things ended well, if not a little tense with his buddy. He should have seen that coming, like, miles away, but sometimes he forgot people were human and humans looked out for themselves first and foremost.

 

* * *

 

 

For some reason, today hurt. They were just barely nubs sticking out from his scarred back, but cutting the wings off nearly made him scream and that was no small feat at this point. He hadn't felt this kind of pain since the cave, the kind that was so bad he actually had to stop several times just to catch his breath and try not to throw up.

 

Once the bandages we're applied—messily, shirt back on, and hair patted back into place, he started to feel a little better. More like himself, less like the freak.

 

"JARVIS, any changes I should know about? There's no reason that should have bothered me so badly, like, out of the blue." 

 

"I detect no biological changes, sir, although the growth rate seems to be increasing by 2% every week." 

 

Tony glared at the few stray feathers that had escaped the trash bag in his hand. Golden, stained red with his blood, as usual. They could have been pretty, if they weren't a part of him.

 

Great, that was just great. That's exactly what he needed, more fucking trouble in his already bullshit-filled life. It was bad enough he was running out of time to fix this shit with the company, but now the wings decided to act up? He grumbled as he rolled his shoulders, and then hissed in pain as the scarred skin stretched over the boney spurs that were always there under his skin. 

 

He needed help, but who the hell would help him when they saw those disgusting things growing out of his back? This Agent guy? Yeah, sure, if Tony wanted to become and experiment for the government. Pepper? No, just imagining Pepper's horrified expression made him feel sick again. Yinsen was a one-of-a-kind kind soulful sort of person, he was also kind of forced to look past the horror of his fellow captive's physical deformity to deal with real problems, like escaping from a bunch of terrorist. 

 

There was no future if anyone found out about them and Yinsen was gone and Obadiah was a lying son-of-a-bitch. Tony wasn't going to luck out twice. He would just have to deal with himself, just as he had been for years already.

 

 _Nothing ever changes_ , he thought, heading back down to the shop to tinker with his suit and try to come up with a plan to take back the control over his company.

 

* * *

 

 

Well this was different, wildly different.

 

Obi—no,  _Stane_ —was being honest with him, for once, and if Tony was in any decent condition to thank him for it, he just might have. Then again, his one and only almost-father was currently removing the only thing in the world keeping Tony alive and talking about how he failed to kill Tony before. Okay, so maybe not  _that_  thankful. 

 

What was it with Tony and the dominant male figures in his life cutting him apart? Was this some Freudian bullshit he was missing there or was it just that bitch called Fate? 

_No, now's really not the fucking time to think about father's and metaphysical aspects of life._

 

Pepper was in danger, his Pepper, and it's all his fault. He just needed to move, which would have been fine and dandy after the sonic taser a few minutes ,maybe, but he didn't have a few minutes. He had _less_ than a minute with that gaping hole in his chest.

 

Then there was the something standing at the edge of his vision, something dark and—was it  _someone_? 

 

By the time he had forced his head to turn and look, the thing or  _someone_  was gone and Tony reminded himself that he was kind of, sort of dying and if dark green blobs were what he got instead of his life flashing before his eyes, he'd take it. He'd already lived through that shit once, no need to remind him about it now.

 

He did actually manage to get down the stairs to his workshop in the fastest way imaginable. The fastest way being throwing himself down them and bouncing off every step like a sack of potatoes. Still, nothing broke, he took that as a win.

 

The reactor, though, was crap. He knew that even as he twisted the cold metal into his chest and started to breath again. JARVIS announced the limited capacity, Tony found himself chuckling at a joke in about impotence that flashed through his head, and oh yeah, Pepper. Danger. 

 

"Time to go." 

 

* * *

 

 

Stane fell, and Tony stared into the blue abyss bellow him, wondering if this was what his death would look like.

 

Maybe not now, thank god for Pepper, but someday that blue glow was going to kill him. 

  


 


	3. Afix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things move on.

 

When Agent Coulson, the interrupting bastard that he is, came waltzing into his tower with a folder in hand, the last thing Tony expected was to get worried. He didn't worry a lot, well, he did when important people were involved like Pepper or Rhodey or even Happy, but not so much for the 'community'. Yeah, he'd protect the innocent—or at least the ones running from the big bag guys with guns—and of course he  _cared_ , but worry was one of those irrational emotions that took over when he  _really_  cared about someone. Or, at least, that's how he categorized it.

 

The thing was, he wasn't worried about the 29 something SHIELD agents that died when their base imploded, or about the fact that Pepper had ditched him mid-celebration, or even that Coulson had a girlfriend that he hadn't know about. No, he was worried about Loki. Or, to be more accurate, he was worried about himself and his _response_ to Loki. 

 

_Maybe it's fear, actual fear, that thing you don't usually feel but when you do—woo, boy do you freak out._

 

Tony let out a mildly hysterical laugh from where he was sitting on the floor, hand clutched to his chest as the remains of his ruined shirt slid off his shoulders. Clearly, there was something wrong with him, because he seriously doubted that fear made his wings grow in 3.34 seconds flat, _or_ that he would even _get_ scared of a picture. 

 

It wasn't a particularly pleasing-to-the-eye kind of picture. In fact, the subject—Loki—was looking bat-shit insane at that moment the camera captured his elegant visage and if Tony were five, he'd maybe understand why he freaked out. But he wasn't five and jesus who  _was_  this guy? Better yet,  _where_  was he? Tony needed to know, like, now. 

 

"JARVIS, hack and track this. I want coordinates on my HUD in five." 

 

"Breaking Into SHIELD again, sir?" 

 

"Always," Tony replied with a less-than-best grin, and went off to find his bone saw and a new shirt.

 

Thirty minutes and a half a bottle of aspirin later, he finally managed to suit up and actually get the hell out of NYC. He had fought with his wings, since, for some reason this time was one of the most painful operations. This time was _beyond_ excruciating. A good chunk of the half-hour was spent in a black out, and even after they were removed, Tony found himself flopped face down on his bed feeling dizzy and nauseous. Maybe also a little pissed, because if he had missed the alien-god showdown, he was going to shoot someone no matter how innocent they were.

 

The flight was not as fast as he'd like it to be, but thankfully, according to JARVIS, SHIELD operatives had only just arrived in Germany and were narrowing in on the supposed god now. Tony grinned to himself as he flew over Germany's coast line. As the signal got stronger, Tony got ready to do what he did best.

 

It was time to put on a show.

 

"Agent Romanoff, did you miss me?" he questioned over the roar of one of his favorite songs.

 

And then he shot Loki right in the chest, saving what looked like Captain America's ass. It didn't get any better than that, saving his father's adored hero? Yeah, he was going to have that recording on loop for a year straight. In the end, he didn't actually catch a response from Natasha, if there was one, because it wasn't just his weapons trained on Loki, now. The dark-haired, Scarborough Fair leather-wearing, horny helmed man had Tony's rapt attention, and that was really quite an accomplishment.

 

"Your move, Reindeer Games." 

 

And then, surprisingly enough, Loki put his hands up, horns disappearing, armor stuff... lessening? What was the point of that, to make himself look smaller? Did gods use the Kitten Technique when cornered? Was this Loki guy about to puff up his spiky hair and hop sideways, hissing at him? 

 

Tony outwardly snorted at the thought, the speakers distorted sound making the god arch a single eyebrow at him. That was when Captain America started talking to him, and also when he came up with about ten one-liners about America and infiltration that he ended up keeping to himself because... Loki. He was so close, he wanted to—no, Loki was going to SHIELD, the end.

 

"Stark."

 

"Hmm?" He grunted, realizing that Loki was no longer in front of him but already being led into the quintet by Rogers. When had that happened? 

 

"Stark, when did you get wind of this?" Natasha was asking, giving him a strange look. 

 

"Coulson brought me a file and told me about his girlfriend."

 

"Pepper told you, didn't she?" 

 

"So everyone knew about her but me ? Not cool, guys." Tony glared at her behind the mask and stepped back, preparing to take off.

 

"Wait, you're here, you might as well come in with us." 

 

Once everyone was all packed inside the jet—which was a lot larger on the inside than one would expect, Tony found himself staring at Loki as the almighty Steve Rogers buckled him in like a little kid. Loki, for the most part, seemed bored and refused to make eye contact with him. Which, for some god damn reason, was pissing Tony right the fuck off. 

 

He jerked his helmet off his head and leveled what he considered his 'A' level glare at the god from across the jet. A lot of good it did when Loki didn't seem to notice, but decided his boots were much more interesting. In fact, it wasn't until Rogers started hovering next to Tony with some pitiful attempts at an actual conversation that Loki looked up and their eyes met.

 

The effect was instantaneous, and painful. Loki gasped first, like someone had just punched the air right out of his lungs. Then, he quickly became angry at his reaction and stiffened up. Meanwhile, Tony had nearly doubled over when his back burst into flames. Not literally, he hoped, but holy shit the skin was burning and his chest ached, and what the hell _was_ this?

 

He could hardly focus on anything around him, and before he knew it, Rogers had Tony seated and started barking demands of an explanation from the god. 

 

"Leave it," Tony grumbled, not quite able to bring himself to catch Loki's eye again. "I'm fine."

 

"You're not 'fine', Stark. This is—"

 

"I said i'm _fine_!" He snapped, aiming a glare at the soldier and failing when his eyes flickered to Loki yet again. The muscles in his back twitched, caused him to grit his teeth. "You... what are you doing to me?" 

 

"Me?" Loki sneered, clearly having mastered whatever emotion he might have been feeling, if he _did_ feelings. "I have done nothing." 

 

Tony was ready to launch into a, 'yeah like anyone would believe that,' when the jet rattled and creaked. Everyone gave uncomfortable looks around at the storm that had sprung up quite suddenly, even the immovable God.

 

And of course, that made Rogers cocky. "Afraid of a little lightning?" 

 

Loki looked at Tony like he asked the question, and replied, "i'm not overly fond of what follows."

 

As it turned out, neither was Tony. Because what followed was something—someone touching his stuff and that was not allowed.  _Really_  not allowed. 

 

 

_Bad. Bad. bad._

 

Was all his brain could supply at the moment, and he was out the back of the jet and chasing them before he could stop and try to figure out why his mind was working at cave-man levels. His brain was catching up enough to remind him that If the thing—person was who he thought he was, he was going to need a lot of force to save Loki. To  _recapture_  Loki. Fuck. 

 

Tony shot out over the trees, his HUD searching for heat signatures and just about anything else he could track normal humans with. With any luck, these Asgardians—Asgardites?—would emit some kind of familiar, trackable signatures. In the end, he nearly missed them when he spotted only one heat signature where there should be two. But JARVIS quickly alerted him that, 'if you simply used your eyes', they were clearly standing right there on that cliff, having a chat. As soon as he  _did_  see them, genius was out and cave-man was back in office. 

 

The sound his suit made when he struck the Almighty Thor while going well over 100mph was beautiful. Sadly, the hit didn't seem to do much to the god, not in the least surprising, but he had Thor's attention now, that was good. 

 

 _Well, maybe no_ t, he thought as he reminded himself that he was strapped into a case of metal and this was the god of  _lighting_. 

 

"Shit, that—"

 

"Levels at 400%, sir." 

 

Tony tilted his head, gave his body a mental check up, found nothing more than a few bruises, and smirked. 

 

_Let's see how the bastard likes a taste of his own medicine._

 

* * *

 

 

After that it grew less fun thanks to the add on Steve Stars-and-Stripes being all good and telling them to stop. Loki had, apparently, been sitting up there watching the show with that smug little smile of his that showed he could have left at any moment, and Tony hoped they all felt as stupid as he did. Well, he felt particularly stupid because the cave-man part of him was saying he lost the fight, failed to defend... something. 

 

_Bad. Bad. Bad._

 

His only small comfort was that instead of mocking his mortality or whatever, Loki seemed genuinely impressed with his show, which, incidentally, made Tony puff up like a peacock. His shoulders twitched, the muscles stretching down his back rippling in warning and Tony knew what would come next. He had about a hour or less before his wings started to grow again and this time, he had no idea how fast or slowly they would emerge. So, for the rest of the trip back to SHIELD, Tony kept his head down and focused only on internally swearing and keeping his damn wings from popping out. There was little doubt that he was doing absolutely nothing to actually stop them, but he would try anyway. 

 

Upon their arrival, Loki stumbled out of the jet and ran into him. The internal swearing became external when Tony found himself gripping the god all too lightly and way too long. 

 

"What are you doing to me?" He repeated softly, staring him down with another glare. He was having trouble working up any actual anger now, which was kind of terrifying, considering the circumstances. 

 

"As I said, it is not I who is doing this." 

 

"Then what is... _this_?" Tony gestured with his head at Loki. "Don't pretend you aren't feeling it, your pupils are huge and your heart rate can't possibly be that high on a normal basis, Asgaridan or not."

 

"Æsir," Loki corrected with a sneer, his body twitching as if he really  _did_  want to pull away, but couldn't quite manage it. Tony's grip was not _that_ hard. 

 

"Okay, Ass-seer then. You didn't answer my question." 

 

" _Æsir_ ," Loki hissed again, "say it correctly or not at all." 

 

"Æsir, okay, I get it, now answer my damn—"

 

"Stark?" Rogers called back, looking worried. "You coming?"

 

Tony looked up to yell something nasty back at him, but as soon as he did, heavily armed SHIELD agents stole his—took Loki away and marched him towards a different entrance than the one everyone else was heading for. There was an irrational second of panic when Loki turned to look back with a strangely tense expression, but it was gone before they walked him through the door. 

 

"What did he say?"

 

Tony looked at Rogers and blinked a few times. "Huh?" 

 

"What did Loki say?" 

 

"Oh, you know, world domination, banning all fun, kick puppies. The usual super-villain stuff." 

 

"Wow... Evil sure has mellowed out these days." 

 

"No," Tony said, clapping a metal-clad hand on the soldier's shoulder, "it's gotten worse." 

 

* * *

 

 

Everyone got separated along the way, Rogers and Thor the only ones to head directly to Fury. Tony may or may not have gotten distracted by moving in all his stuff into the labs. There was a small amount of theft, just an item or two, a newly procured bag of chocolate covered blue berries, and a conversation with Coulson about his girlfriend Tony had never heard about. His entrance to the war meeting was late—perfect—and obnoxious enough to get his bug planted without anyone noticing. He also was excited to actually meet Dr. Banner, not just admire his work from afar.

 

Unfortunately, the second he reached out and shake the doctor's hand, his back caught fire yet again and Tony jerked away with a startled yelp. Banner, who had looked slightly embarrassed, if not a little amused from Tony's comment, froze instantly, withdrawing his hand as if he was the one burned.

 

"Oh..." Tony quickly tried to fix that little fuck up. "No, sorry, it's not you. Got a little dinged up thanks to Brock Samson over there." 

 

Thor seemed to understand the gesture was at him and began speaking, "Stark, my deepest apologies if you were harmed in anyway during our argument." 

 

Tony gave him a deeply incredulous look. "I'm sorry, 'Argument'? That was not an argument, that was a fight. Okay, maybe a tussle, but in no way were words exchanged enough to be considered an argument."

 

Thor flashed his teeth at him, quite amused. "I would hardly call that a battle, my friend."

 

"Did I say 'battle'? Seriously, you need to—"

 

" _Enough_." 

 

Tony snapped his mouth shut at sound of Fury's furious tone. Any other day and Tony would keep going until Fury put a gun to his head, but there was a weariness to the director that maybe, kind of worried him. Just a little. 

 

"Stark," he directed at him, crossing the room to stand at the far end of the table next to Thor. "Not another word out of you unless it's about Loki." 

 

"Loki, right, did anyone else notice he seemed really okay about being here?" Blank faces told him, no, they hadn't noticed. Tony rolled his eyes and spoke to the biggest of the blondes. "Also, Thor, buddy, what's up with your brother?" 

 

"He's crazy?" Banner offered. "I mean, you can smell the crazy on him." 

 

"You will not speak so of my brother, he is still a prince. You would do well to remember that." 

 

Natasha reminded him, "He killed 30 people in the past few days." 

 

"He's adopted?"

 

"So, not a prince?" Tony offered with a grin, and Thor answered with a scowl. 

 

"When I said talk about Loki," Fury interrupted with an all-encompassing glare, "I meant strategies, Intel that's actually pertinent to what we're doing here, not some god rumor hour with Tony Stark." 

 

"Okay, but I did have a point there with the whole 'wanting to be here' thing." 

 

"Uh huh, cuz you can read his mind, Stark?" 

 

Tony wondered for a moment of he really could, found that was a stupid train of thought and moved on. 

 

"I have a feeling... okay, don't look at me like that, there's no way someone looks  _that_  smug when they don't want to be here." 

 

Natasha nodded in agreement, earning herself an arched brow from the director. 

 

"So the real question is  _why_  does he want to be here," she said, looking around the table. "Because it's  strategically unsound. He's completely surrounded, locked in a cell that drops 30,000 feet to the ground if he breathes too hard." 

 

Thor looked almost ashamed as he admitted, "That has not often been... a problem for my brother." 

 

"Adopted brother," Tony amended. Damn, he just couldn't get along with anyone blonde today. 

 

"Since you have nothing to provide us with here, how about you and Banner get to work on tracking down the Tesseract," Fury ordered while pretending it was just a suggestion. He was good at that, just like Tony was good at treating them like suggestions rather than orders.

 

"I'll go speak to the prisoner," Natasha suggested, or rather, stated as a fact. " I can get something out of him." 

 

"Fine, go," Fury directed, shooing them out of the room. 

 

Tony lingered for a moment, his eyes following Natasha's back as she left for wherever they were holding Loki. He felt conflicted, because on the one hand, Bruce Banner! Science! On the other, he really wanted to talk to Loki, or be near Loki, or touch Loki. 

 

 

Tony tsked irritably and followed the doctor to the lab where he had already set up most of his stuff and, oh yeah, he forgot he nabbed a few things. Banner seemed... tense. Tony was sort of fascinated by the whole, 'how tense does he need to be to go green?' and jabbed him in the side. 

 

"What, nothing?" 

 

"So you can poke me with... whatever that is, but shaking hands is out?" 

 

Thankfully, he sounded amused, at least, until Rogers showed up to ruin the fun again. 

 

"Are you _crazy_?" 

 

Tony spun on his heel, shoving an entire handful of blueberries into his mouth before offering the bag to Bruce, who actually took some. Banner was growing up, Tony was so proud.

 

"Stark, you just endangered—"

 

"Sorry, did you ask something?" 

 

The captain's jaw did that little twitch thing that Tony found to be the highlight of his very confusing life right now. 

 

"Is everything a joke to you?" 

 

_Oh, here it comes._

'People died, responsible adults, yadda yadda.' 

_Oops, mentioned hacking SHIELD, my bad. Oh, now he's mad, good, go be angry somewhere else._

 

Several minutes after the captain left, Bruce looked up from his screen and asked, "but really, are you crazy?"

 

"Jury's out," Tony replied, flicking the screen when the hack failed another algorithm. "Why do you ask?" 

 

"You're confusing, I guess. One second you're flinching away from me, the next you're in my personal space, stabbing me with sharp things and sharing your snacks." 

 

"When you put it like that..." 

 

"So that's a 'yes'." 

 

Tony turned from his screen and squinted at the man. "Let me set this straight, since you seemed to have missed it earlier. I didn't flinch because I was scared of you. Everyone's got their own issues, I don't like touching people—" that was a lie "—or having things handed to me. It's a thing, it's _my_ thing, not your thing." 

 

"So apparently you're sexual exploits are rumors only?"

 

Tony barked out a laugh and looked over his shoulder at the scientist. "Didn't know you read the rags out there in, where were you again?" 

 

"News travels by mouth, especially elderly women." He looked at the screen and gave him a tight smile. "Who just so happened to be my main clientele." 

 

"You know I could just look at your file to find out where you were." 

 

"You could..."

 

"But I won't." 

 

Banner finally looked at him, and for the first time since Tony met him upstairs, the tension in his face actually relaxed a fraction of an inch. That was good, good for both of them. Maybe when Tony's wings came bursting out of his back in ten minutes, Banner would understand and Tony wouldn't get carted away to be a lab rat in the belly of the beast. He was holding out on a 'maybe', because he had already disabled the cameras in the lab and his back was burning and—

 

The skin across his shoulder blades split suddenly, catching Tony off guard. "Gaah!" 

 

Banner's smile dropped instantly, and he came around the screens with an unsure hand stretched out to him. "What's wrong? Is it your reactor?" 

 

"I would be f-freaking out a lot more if it was," Tony laughed weakly, finding his corner of the table and sitting heavily on it. The doctor was already in his face, eyeing him and checking him over without getting too close.

 

_Hah, seems like he sort of believed the 'don't like to be touched.'_

 

"Your eyes are... Maybe I saw wrong," Bruce mumbled, shining a pen light in each and then pausing to stare at them. It was a little unnerving to have someone look you in the eye, but just the eye, no further intent than that. 

 

"Okay what's wrong with my eyes, because my back's the thing that hurts?" 

 

"They're really... bright...." Banner fumbled for a word and made a face when he settled with, "gold." 

 

Tony blinked said eyes and sighed, reaching up to rub away the irritation from the light. 

 

"Yeah, I don't know about that. Never looked when this happened." 

 

"When what happened?" 

 

Tony kept his head down, fingers curling around his face in an unconscious desire to hide, protect himself.  

 

"So, you know how you change into a big, green, car-throwing, overgrown—"

 

Bruce snapped a, "Yes, your point?" At him.

 

Tony's shoulders rippled and he let out a soft groan. Here it was, the defining moment. Sink or swim.

 

_Fly or fall._

 

"Well, I—aaaugh!" 

 

"What is—!" Bruce was yelling, his voice trailing off as Tony's wings proceeded to tear themselves out of the back of his shirt and grow. "What... are..." 

 

"What am I?" Tony gritted out, rising his head and stretching his already medium sized, bloody wings behind him. "Good question." 

 

Banner couldn't seem to take his eyes off of them, that is, until he glanced at the camera tucked away in the corner and suddenly pressed into Tony, shielding him from it.

 

"Shit, why are you showing me this  _here_?" Banner hissed, glancing around at the very open-view around the room. Glass doors, big windows, hey, but the guy actually cared. 

 

"I disabled the cameras, and I didn't  _plan_  this, I—" he broke over with a shudder, because Banner was touching him again and it was too much. Too wrong. "Please... p-lease back away." 

 

Bruce didn't seem to hear, or want to listen. He was too busy checking the door for the third time and unconsciously pressing closer to Tony and—

 

_Oh god I cant._

 

"Move!" He snarled, pushing past the man with a shove. His wings creaked as they grew wider than his arms, spreading out in what felt like a display or a threat, maybe. Tony didn't know, it was too hard to think, now. 

 

_Touching... Bad, bad, bad._

_Touching was for... he needs to go to him._

 

"But where?" He muttered out loud, turning his head to sniff the air. "Where, where, where?" 

 

Bruce was stepping closer again, one hand out before him. Tony hissed and back away, a small part of his brain overwhelmingly embarrassed that he just _hissed_ like a cat at one of the world's most renowned scientists, for fuck's sake. 

 

"Tell me what you need, Stark... Tony. Where is what?" 

 

"Mine."

 

"Something that's yours?" Bruce asked gently, stopping a few feet away from him. "Your suit is in the cargo bay, right?"

 

"No, not there. Not that." 

 

"You need a... maybe Fury? Because I don't think that's a good idea, he's—"

 

"No!" Tony screamed and backed a few steps towards the door again, shaking his head. He couldn't think! It was disturbing, he felt disgusting like this. Stupid, dulled down, primal, and so god damn  _needy_. 

 

_Pull yourself together. Fix this, you... need... need... where is?_

 

 _Shit._  

 

Tony caught it, that scent, and before Bruce could utter another word, he was out the door and flying down the hallway.

 

He was flying.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Bruce ran a hand down his face and stared at the open door with less shock than he expected to feel. No, there was no room for shock when he was crushed by fear. And for once, it wasn't for himself. 

 

This was... impossible, for one thing, or, improbable. But wings, Tony Stark had wings and also seemed well aware of this fact. The wing part of the equation, anyway, his comment about Tony's eyes had genuinely surprised the man. Then there was this... need, for whatever it was, that also seemed new. If only Bruce knew what it was, he could—

 

"Holy shit!" 

 

"What the fuck was that?!" A much angrier voice called out, and Bruce's heart stopped as black leather came into view. "Banner, did you see that? Do we have something else on board?!" 

 

Bruce gave director Fury his best smile, and promptly turned green. 

 

 

 


	4. Oh Bright Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything's gone upside down, and somehow, the last person who should be saving Tony's ass, does exactly that. 
> 
> For now, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it's a short chapter. I promise another one soon.

 

 

_Where?_

 

_Want want want!_

 

_No, bad. Stop screaming._

 

Tony pivoted in mid-air, shooting between bodies so fast his eyes began to water. But he didn’t care, he needed to go faster! Ignore the hands reaching for him, ignore— 

 

_Don’t touch!_

 

He hissed when someone caught his ankle, and before they could strengthen their hold on him, he kicked off with a powerful beat of his wings, and was free to dart down the corridor. Voices rose again, commands being shouted through intercoms. Something about a monster by the labs.

 

Finally, someone started firing.

 

 

“MOVE!” he screamed at the men ahead while some small part of him tried to remind himself that this was wrong, and _holy fuck, please stop this ride I need to get off_. 

 

But his body refused to listen, because about 96% of him was screaming: _Loki_!

 

_Where? Where?_

_Smell him. Smell._

_Yes!_

 

An odd crooning sound escaped him as he careened around another corner and headed directly towards the door at the end. Someone began firing again, little flashes of pain breaking out over Tony’s body as he drew closer. A sting here, a burn there, a stab of pain in his left wing. But it didn’t matter, nothing mattered, and the men before him fell easily with a single swipe of his wings.

 

Once inside, primal brain let genius brain take over the door-locking mechanism, and promptly stole center stage again the second he turned around and saw a dark figure standing in the center of a rounded, glass cell.

 

“Nnhh?” he mewled at the man, and once again, somewhere deep inside of him, he screamed mortification. 

 

 

Loki, rather being pleased with his arrival as bird-brain wanted, simply asked, “What _are_ you?” and gave him a wide-eyed stare mixed with slight revulsion. 

 

“Loki…”

 

_No?_

_Bad, bad, bad_.

 

“This…” Loki began uneasily, seeming transfixed by Tony’s wings. “This is not natural, you should not be here. I do not _want_ you here.” 

 

 

_Bad, bad, BAD, BAD, BAD!_

 

Tony’s lips seemed out of his control along with everything else, because they wobbled pathetically, and a small, sad noise clawed its way out of his throat. It was ridiculous, he shouldn’t give a shit what this asshole wanted, but, he did. He wanted to be—no, _needed_ to be wanted. But still, Loki didn't take his eyes off of the wings, even when he began pacing from one side to the other with a feral look in his eyes. 

 

“Want me to… leave?” Tony asked, having trouble forcing actual words out of his mouth. It was a slight improvement, no matter how disturbingly childish he sounded. Genius brain was catching up, making connections, that was better then nothing.

 

Loki hissed, “No,” and continued his pacing, his eyes now flicking to the control panel behind Tony. “What are you? What is this persuasion you hold over me? I demand you remove it from me at once!”

 

_No._

 

Tony tried to explain that he needed Loki, but the reason why just wasn’t coming to him. So he settled with whimpering at the god, “Mine.”

 

“I belong to no one!”

 

“Mine!” he cried out desperately while banging against the glass like an idiot. This only seemed to make Loki sneer more, and now that they were closer, the haze seemed to lessen enough for Tony to take notice of the changes in the god. He stood taller, looked less gaunt than before, and even had a hint of color to his cheeks. For someone locked up in the belly of SHIELD, he looked awfully content, healthy even.

 

Well, with the exception of the absolute murderous expression he was giving Tony through the glass. 

 

“You and your red-headed bint will be slaughtered in a particularly slow fashion,” the god warned, mouth splitting into a wicked grin that sent danger signals toboth of Tony’s brains. 

 

_He doesn’t want me._

_Like this is my fault, anyway._

 

“Nah, I don’t think we will,” he growled, a bubble of anger building up in his chest. “Y-you don’t want me? Too bad, it’s not like want you either. This is just some… hallucination, or something.”

 

“Oh, so i’m not real? Just a figment of your mind?” Loki mused, eyes sharp and humorless. “I should have know your ego was this appalling, if what my pet archer has told me is true.”

 

_Pet?_

_“My” pet?_

 

Tony’s wings twitched in anger, once more pressing closer to the glass to snarl at Loki. Like he could threaten him, anyway. He didn’t even have is damn suit. Why the hell was he here without his suit? Also, what hurt?

 

He also had a feeling that, if not for the glass, he would have probably done something he would regret. Like _touching_ Loki again.

 

Oh, who was he kidding? That ship had sailed about ten minutes ago. He was in deep shit, wings out, some sort of fucked up attraction to the guy killing a bunch of people, Bruce’s seen his wings, and Tony has a vague memory of flying past Fury.

 

“Shut it,” he snapped, more to himself than Loki. There wasn’t any point in arguing with the god, he was bat-shit insane. Or sack-of-cats, whatever Bruce said. 

 

“The point is, i’m not doing this, you’re claiming to not be responsible for it, so i’m going with some kind of drug induced fantasy or it was something I ate.”

 

Loki snickered nastily, “Oh, perhaps you are a figment of my imagination. What then?”

 

“Hallucinate often, King Lear?”

 

Loki’s amusement, as bitter as it was, dried right up again, and before Tony could—probably—insult him some more, the god had stalked back to the other side of the cell without another word. 

 

“Hey!” Tony called out, tapping on the glass again. “For fucks sake, we need to talk about this.”

 

“No, we do not need to speak ever again.”

 

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel it,” Tony gritted out, striding over to the far side of the cell to glare at Loki. From behind him, there were the sounds of people trying to get into the room, and Tony silently counted the seconds in the back of his head. 

 

How long to get out of the room? How long will it take to find a place to hide, chop off his wings, and dispose of them safely? How much time did he have before they look at the cameras and see that it was him flying through the halls? How long would it take his bug to hack, remove, and replace said footage somehow? 

 

“Not enough time,” he muttered to himself, thumping his head against the glass as he slumped forward. The pain that he had so carefully been ignoring was starting to eat away at his energy, never mind the impending doom that was breaking through the door, and, oh yeah, this asshole here and their precious _connection_.

 

“Leave.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

“There is another door, behind here,” Loki said in voice that made Tony look up again. 

 

The god was standing right on the other side of the glass again, his full attention once more directed on him. He looked almost conflicted, and maybe Tony wasn’t the only one having some control issues. 

 

“That’s not the problem,” Tony replied, not about to comment on Loki’s sudden helpful attitude. He’d take what he could get right now, as grudgingly as it was given. “I can’t go running out there with these.”

 

“Your wings?”

 

Tony sighed and glanced at the one laying limply to his side. He could feel the pain burning through it all the way into his back. It must have been hit, or maybe he smashed into one of those corners. It was all a blur, really. 

 

“I need to cut these off before they—you know what, why am I telling you this? You don’t care, you can’t help,” Tony snapped, pushing away from the glass to look at the second control panel. He was relived to see that whatever he did in his Loki-haze had managed to control both doors. Maybe he had a little more time. Then again, what did it matter? There was no way he could get the wings off, sneak out of here, get the wings off, find Bruce—

 

“Secure level five!” Someone shouted just beyond the door in front of him, sending Tony stumbling back towards the cell.

 

“Shit… shit! Fuck—dammit!”

 

“Stark.”

 

Tony turned, surprised to hear the god using his name, and let out a squeak. Because, apparently glass did nothing for magicians, because Loki wasn’t behind said glass anymore, but rather close behind him. In the flesh, looking dangerous. 

 

Tony paled, backing away as quickly as possible, and why, oh _why_ didn't he have his suit? The door behind him buckled under the pressure of an explosion, and Tony winced. Stuck between a rock and an insane god. Not good. 

 

“How the fuck did get out?” he hissed, taking small steps to the side to try to creep past him. 

 

“No time,” Loki replied, reaching out and spinning Tony around. “Hold still.”

 

“Wha—?! No, what are you—“ 

 

In his ear, Loki muttered, “I have no idea,” and promptly ripped the wings off his back. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Stark!?”

 

“Here,” he called out, tucking his shaking hands into his arm pits and trying his hardest not to throw up or scream or any of those break-down kind of things he desperately needed to do. 

 

Agent Hill was in front of him before he could manage to stop the shivers wracking his body, and Tony squinted up at her with a weak smile. Maybe they would confuse his state with trauma. Yeah, he _was_ traumatized. 

 

“Stark, what happened?” She asked, not touching him, but not getting out of his face, either. 

 

“Uh, not sure. Flying thing? Loki? Who knows. I think I have a hole in my hip, though.”

 

“Loki’s in his cell, and the ‘Unidentified Assailant’ seems to have disappeared… in here… with you.” She paused, giving Tony a significant look. 

 

Tony blinked, ignoring her implications. “He is?”

 

Looking past her shoulder, Tony saw that, yes, Loki _was_ in his cell again, making a point of ignoring the questions being shouted at him by Fury and looking as smug as ever. There wasn’t a hint of blood on his leather, or even on those careful folded hands behind his back. Those hands, that only moments ago were tearing his feathered appendages from his back and doing some kind of burning thing to the skin. 

 

_Cauterizing with magic… jesus christ, this is insane._

 

“Stark, where’s the flying guy?” Hill asked, purposely moving in front of Tony’s face again. Irritation burned in his chest, but he had no outlet. He was in dangerous waters as it was, no need to piss of Hill anymore than he usually did. By just existing.

 

“Uh, not sure. I wasn’t really conscious until a minute ago and you sure Loki wasn’t out of his cage?”

 

“More than sure, we checked the footage.”

 

Something cold dropped into Tony’s stomach, replacing the irritation with fear. As per usual, he plastered a calm expression across his face and didn’t vomit or scream or break down. This was an old game for him, he could do this. Just smile and wave and refute every damn thing they try to pin on him. 

 

“Okay, sooo, I take it you saw what happened then? What this flying thing was—is?” He asked carefully. 

 

Hill huffed and sat back on her heels, glancing over her shoulder at Fury, who was still having a one-on-one glaring match with Loki. 

 

“Would I be asking you about it if we knew? I thought you were supposed to be a genius,” she sighed, and yep, there was that irritation again. Why did she hate him so much, anyway?

 

“Every single camera except for this room has nothing but black for the entirety of that thing’s flight, and in here, it was just you curled up in the corner while Loki paced around for about ten minutes.” She looked back at him with the same expectant look and added, “So, again, what the hell happened in here?”

 

“Like I said, no clue. One second I was with Banner, the next—“

 

“You were with Banner? When? How long? Did something happen in the lab?”

 

Tony frowned, surprised at her sudden change of topic. But before he could answer, there was a crash and Fury’s voice echoed throughout the room.

 

“I _know_ that had something to do you, Loki! Stop pussy-footing around this and tell me where it went!” Tony nearly smirked at how desperate he sounded. Mostly because _he_ was the ‘flying thing’, and desperation meant Fury didn’t know as much as he initially thought.

 

“That thing has nothing to do with me, I know not where it went, nor why, or _who_ it was.” 

 

Tony winced at his tone, and held his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Loki held his entire life in his hands right now, and that was not a position anyone wanted to be in, never mind a so-called super hero who helped capture the damn guy. Well, sort of capture, apparently Loki wasn’t actually behind held.

 

_So why is he still here?_ Tony wondered, watching carefully as the god smirked at Fury like the taunting asshole that he was. 

 

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Fury was saying, which almost made Tony laugh, considering that that’s what this entire day seemed to be made up of for him. 

 

“Neither do _I_ ,” Loki replied, voice dropping. “This is your query, Director, not mine. I believe you have some more pressing matters to attend to? A certain _beast_ you brought aboard, perhaps?”

 

“Oh you utter _asshole_ ,” Tony breathed, drawing everyone’s attention to him. Great, just what he needed when he was trying to keep a low profile. Whatever, more importantly, “where’s Bruce?”

 

Fury spared him a withering look and answered, “We’re handling it, Stark, so if you—“

 

Whatever Tony was supposed to do was interrupted by an explosion that knocked nearly everyone to the floor. And then it was all alarms, orders being barked out, and someone was yanking Tony to his feet and pushing him towards the door. 

 

“What the—?”

 

“Suit up!” Hill yelled in his ear, leaving him to help others out of the room.

 

Tony paused, glancing back at the one person who hadn’t fallen over, almost as if he had known to brace himself. Loki, as if sensing in his eyes on him, gave Tony a sweet—albeit creepy—smile, and continued to stand perfectly still, even as the carrier started to tip.

 

“Coincidences…” he mumbled to himself, hating the pull that never quite left, or the way his back burned in what felt like two hand-shaped prints, or how little he gave a shit about the fact that Loki, murdering, psycho Loki, had saved his ass.

 

“We shall see,” Loki replied, voice carrying perfectly over the noise. It sounded like a promise that Tony wasn't sure he wanted the god to keep. But, whatever this was, had to be put on hold. Apparently, they were falling out of the sky, and glass couldn’t keep that bastard in, so what was the point of staying here? He had people to save, and Tony had a feeling this was Loki’s escape plan, and maybe he wasn’t going to stop it. Not yet, anyway. 

 

_One thing at a time._

 

Something roared and the carrier shook again.

 

_Yeah_ , Tony thought, taking off down the hallway towards the cargo hold. 

 

 

_One thing at a time._

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Fly for Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's falling, and then there's falling.

 

 

One would think that being a long time drinking champion and having spent a good 30% of his life sporting a hangover and spending a good many mornings saying hello to the bottom his toilet, that Tony Stark would be a pro at throwing up. But no amount of experience softened the blow or made it any more pleasant. 

 

As it was, this wasn’t some drinking-binge vomiting, this was dealing-with-too-much-shit vomiting. This was bad reaction to magic in his system—probably—vomiting combined with _jesus christ something’s wrong with me_ panic and a dash of _the guy I just tried to flirt with killed Coulson_ internal screaming.

 

But he didn’t have time for this, it was just him and the captain left, unless they got that Clint guy up and running. He hasn’t seen Natasha since she first left to go talk to Loki—oh god— _Loki_.

 

Tony heaved again, fingers gripping uselessly at the metal of the toilet. His back was burning still from where the god ripped his wings off and did something to the skin, and there was still blood on his clothes, but no one noticed. Everyone had some blood on them at this point.

 

Bruce was gone, apparently turned green at some point and took a sky-dive out of the carrier while he was fixing the engine with Captain Dark Ages. 

 

“‘Runs on _electricity_ ’,” he giggled and choked, spitting into the toilet. “I think I might be able to stand him if he keeps that up.”

 

“Are you talking to yourself, or me?”

 

“Neither. The toilet. It’s great for bouncing ideas off of,” he replied dryly, flushing down his breakfast, lunch, and guilt. 

 

“Care to bounce them off it later? We need to suit up and get out of here. If you’re right, Loki’s already set up shop on your tower. Probably already blowing things up.”

 

Tony looked up at the man leaning against the door frame and tried to place him. Sandy blond, not that tall, but not mini, SHIELD leathers.

 

“Do I know you?”

 

“No, but I know you,” he replied, a strange expression passing over his otherwise unreadable face.

 

“Everyone knows who I am,” Tony groused, pushing himself off the floor and rubbing at his forehead. “Anyway, suiting up, I’ll need ten—no, five minutes to fix up some damages and I’m good to go.”

 

“Right, i’ll be with the others when you’re ready.”

 

“Don’t wait up, i’ll be riding alone.”

 

The man shrugged and turned away, pausing only a few steps away to add, “Name’s Clint, by the way.”

 

“Clint…” Tony mused, trying to remember where he heard that before. “Oh, right, you’re the guy who got snatched by Loki. Didn’t know you were back. How’d they manage that, anyway? I heard you were compromised or whatever.”

 

“I was. Natasha beat it out of me.”

 

“Ah, there you go, nothing like a dose of Romanoff to cure your ails,” Tony sighed, joining him as they headed down to the lower decks. “Tell her i’m sorry, if you see her.”

 

“Sorry for what?”

 

Tony turned, heading towards the cargo deck for his suit, and waved over his shoulder. “She’ll know what I mean. She always knows.”

 

“Yeah,” Clint muttered, “she does.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

There was no more time for bathroom breaks or panic attacks now. He had gone ahead while the others piled into their jet and Fury stayed oddly silent. It felt fishy, but then again, Fury was always fishy. He was the spy to end all spies, there wasn’t a single moment Tony could trust him fully. But, again, there was no time for this. 

 

His left thruster was cutting out every three minutes or so, and both repulsers were losing power steadily as he pulled out over the bridge. 

 

“JARVIS, please tell me that blue light on top of my tower is some kind of new decoration that I added last minute and just forgot?”

 

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

 

“Thought so. Let’s start there and then land. I’m almost out of juice.”

 

“Heat signature detected on roof,” JARVIS warned. “It may be Loki.”

 

Tony pulled up to a stop above the roof and frowned down at the device. It was already on, unfortunately, and the man kneeling beside it was not Loki. 

 

“Shut this down, now!”

 

“You’re too late!” he called back. “You can’t stop it now.”

And yeah, maybe he should have listened, because all he ended up doing was wasting the last of his energy reserves and probably scared the shit out of the guy. Swearing colorfully, he dove down and landed on the strip, glancing to his right when he felt that tug again. 

 

_Of course he’s here and of course JARVIS didn't detect him._

 

Loki eyed him with the same dangerously curious expression as before and turned away, striding along the deck to enter the tower before Tony could. 

 

“You seem well, winged one,” commented Loki, halting by the far door and watching Tony’s every move. 

 

He simply shrugged and headed for the bar, pulling out a glass first and carefully slipping on his bracelets under the guise of fixing himself a drink. 

 

“No longer clamouring for my affections, mortal?”

 

“Oh, I doubt anyone’s going to be doing that again in a long time,” Tony sniped, pouring himself a glass and dropping a single ice cube. His hands didn’t shake, at least he had that going for him. “Want a drink?”

 

“What changed?” Loki questioned, stalking across the floor towards him. Tony raised his glass in solute and followed suit, meeting him half way. 

 

“Probably the way you killed Coulson,” he replied calmly. “Phill Coulson. He had a cellist, you know.”

 

Loki wrinkled his nose, not impressed by the name or his date, apparently. “I was not aware he died.”

 

“Sure, the hole you left in him wasn't a clue.”

 

“He is not dead,” Loki insisted, and shrugged when Tony’s glare sharpened. “Think what you will, winged one.”

 

“Stop calling me that,” Tony hissed, fidgeting with his bracelet. He was playing with fire here, but maybe, just maybe, he could use whatever this connection was to his advantage. Just a little more time and the rest of their somewhat rag-tag team would be here. He just needed to stall for—

 

“Why not?” Loki purred, a finger tracing up Tony’s chest and hovering over the cold metal in his chest which might have made his heart stop, and his breathing might have done some fluttery thing in response. “I wish to see them again.”

 

“Hey, sorry, I don’t humor murderer’s and their kinks.” Tony took a sip from his glass and didn’t taste a thing. “Besides, I can’t summon them at will, anyway.”

 

There was a smirk growing across Loki’s face that told Tony he had made a mistake. Somewhere, somehow, he just gave the god ammunition against him. 

 

His hand began to shake, just a little. 

 

“I want to see your _wings_ , Tony Stark.”

 

“And I want a burger,” Tony quipped,” But we can’t always get what we—“

 

Fingers curled around his neck, squishing his face uncomfortably and now his feet weren’t touching the floor anymore and what did his father always tell him?

 

_‘Don’t push everyone’s buttons.’_

 

“JARVIS… JAR—now would be a good time to—“

 

“Fly for me,” Loki grinned, and threw him out the window.

 

* * *

 

 

“Fucking-god-damn-ass-fuck- _fuck_!” Tony chanted, pulling up just in time before turning himself and several random people into pancakes. No, his wings didn’t save him like Loki probably wanted, so a great big ‘fuck you’ to him, from Tony, with love. His suit, however, worked perfectly, and Tony relished the chance to use a full powered repulser on Loki’s face. 

 

“By the way,” he called out, rising up in front of the broken window to face the god. “You make an ugly face when you’re mad.”

 

He nearly giggled when Loki’s face contorted in anger just before Tony sent him flying backwards. His, admittedly, childish pleasure didn't last long, however, because two things happened at once. 

 

One, a great big light fired into the sky and a hole opened up above his tower, and two, something in his chest started to hurt just like it did back in the quinjet. 

 

“Sir…”

 

“Yeah, I see them,” Tony growled, casting a glare back at the fallen god. “Sit. Stay. I’ll deal with you later.”

 

Loki muttered something that sounded like, “Oh, _shut up_ ,” and couldn’t seem to drag himself up off the floor. Tony gritted his teeth, switched his HUD over to battle-mod, and took off into the fray.

 

“Stark?” Rogers barked in his ear, with perfect timing as always. 

 

“Kind of busy, Cap. Apparently there’s an army, isn’t that _keen_?”

 

“Just a heads up, I think Thor has landed and we’re on the ground. What’s the situation up there?”

 

Tony swerved another batch of flying-alien-spaceship things and grimaced. This was his worst science fiction nightmare: cyborgs. Flesh and technology did not go together, at least not at this level. That was just gross. Besides, they went down so easily once you killed the ‘driver’. Except, they kind of seemed to be communicating, but not any frequency JARVIS could detect, so that meant they probably—

 

He was shaken out of his thoughts by a fresh blow from one of their own Glow Sticks of Destiny ®. 

 

“Gah! Yeah—“he grunted, firing back and taking a nose dive after some that got past him. “—they’re out in force. Landed where?”

 

“I see them I—what? Landed?” the captain replied in confusion.

 

“Thor! Landed where!?” Tony snapped, flying low over the city to catch the trail of a few heading down town. 

 

“Looks like the Empire State by that lightning there—I see you, drop em, we’ll take care of the civilians.”

 

“You do that,” Tony muttered, shooting down three more before a loud groan drew his attention skyward again. “Oh for fuck’s… sake…”

 

Just making it through the portal was something even more appalling than the ship-alien hybrid, and it was huge, whale-like, ugly, and coming in fast. 

 

“That’s my cue,” Tony said, flying up to meet it head on. 

 

“The shell is impregnable,” JARVIS pointed out on Tony’s drive by scan. 

 

“Noted. Can you check up on what’s going on in the tower?” he asked, ignoring the hot flicker of guilt burning in his stomach. He knew it was wrong, but a small part of him—okay, a medium-sized part of him didn’t want Loki to get hurt. Well, _really_ hurt. 

 

“It appears Loki is battling Thor, currently.” JARVIS paused and added dryly, “Stabbing Thor, actually.”

 

Unable to hold back a snort, Tony took another swing by the deck of the tower to catch a glimpse of them fighting. 

 

“Where is—?” Tony broke off when, only a few feet away from him, Loki rolled right off the deck and onto an alien. It was annoying, but for a moment he felt like Loki actually made eye-contact with him, like he could see through the suit, and, of course, he smirked. 

 

“Fucker…”

 

“Sir, the Leviathan is nearing ground. Shall we engage?”

 

Tony ignored the nagging feeling that was telling him to go after Loki, and did as JARVIS suggested. 

 

Two leviathans later, Fury finally decided to join in.

 

“Stark…”

 

“What the hell is up with you guys? What part of ‘busy, fighting a bunch of aliens,’ don’t you understand?”

 

Fury didn’t comment, but stated plainly, “There’s a missile headed your way. I tried to stop it, but…”

 

Tony cursed several gods, including a certain dark-haired one, and stopped dead in the air to turn around. 

 

“How long have we got?”

 

“Not long enough.”

 

“Hold that thought, I’ve got an idea,” Tony muttered, taking off through the city streets at top speeds. Whatever Fury replied, he didn’t hear, because there it was, streaking out over the bridge and heading right for Manhattan. Someone else was shouting something, but Tony was busy lining himself up and gripping at the underbelly of a giant fucking explosive, thank you very much. 

 

“Stark, what are you doing?” questioned Rogers, sounding strained. He’d put up a good fight, from what Tony had seen during his short stay on the ground.

 

“Missile coming in,” he replied. “And I know just where to put it.”

 

“Tony, that’s—“

 

“Busy. JARIVIS, convert all power to thrusters.”

 

“Done,” JARVIS replied, then, after a small pause, added, “Shall I call miss Potts?”

 

Tony blinked the sweat out of his eyes and opened his mouth to say yes. A “no,” came out instead, and along with it a flash of green eyes and another burning sensation in his chest. 

 

“No, not _him_. Come on,” Tony begged silently, tilting the missile up and just making it without crashing into the tower. Windows rushed past him, and for a split second Tony saw a figure sprawled out on the floor before it was gone, and there was nothing but blue skies and a giant black hole. 

 

His chest hurt.

 

Two hand-print-shaped burns on his back _hurt_.

 

Tony flew through the portal, gritting his teeth at the sucking sensation that pulled at his armor and made his ears pop. Somehow, the other side was worse, even if his job was done. Even if the missile flew straight and true, even if he was right, they did have a hive-mind mentality, probably. Because his suit was failing and the thrusters cut out, and it was dark, really dark, and no amount of green eyes would help him now. 

 

_Please, not him_ , he thought, and fell.

 

* * *

 

 

 

  
When the Hulk caught him, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. That is, until they landed, and Steve turned him over, ripping the faceplate away to see a battered, still face beneath. He didn’t even notice that the glow that was _always_ there, was no longer shining from his chest. He should have, but he didn’t. 

 

Hulk roared almost desperately, startling everyone out of their momentary stupor.

 

“Is he…?” the Thor rasped, fingers tightening around his hammer as if ready to battle this, too. 

 

“I can’t tell if he’s breathing,” Steve admitted, swallowing his guilt and fear and leaning down to check. Several of his own heart beats passed before he felt it, just a light breath against his ear. “He’s alive!”

 

“He doesn’t look alive,” Romanoff commented quietly, leaning heavily on Clint as they limped between cars to approach them.

 

Hulk grunted, stepping forward to roar again and sending both spies stumbling back a few steps. 

 

“What is he doing?”

 

“Trying to wake him up, I think.”

 

Thor frowned at the larger, green man. “Someone should calm him.”

 

“I’m not doing it,” Romanoff muttered, staying just out of the Hulk’s reach at staring at Stark’s body intently. 

 

“Guys…” Steve said softly, finally noticing the triangle in Stark’s armor that should be glowing. 

 

Clint spoke up, misinterpreting Steve’s intent, “I’m not doing it either, he hates—“

 

“He won’t wake up,” he whispered, and no one had anything left to say.

 


	6. Shadow on the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New York City is a mess, and they're not even there to clean it up. No, they're too busy trying to figure out what's wrong with Tony, interrogate a certain crazy god, and not piss Bruce Banner off.

 

 

 

Loki was not pleased with the way things were going, even more so now than during his fruitless battle. That, after all, had been slightly more intentional, where as this nonsense was not in the slightest. 

 

 

“Tell me what you did to him.”

 

“And why, pray tell, do you assume it was me who did something to your precious _flying_ knight?” Loki questioned, watching the soldier’s reaction carefully when he emphasized his words. He was going to have to be subtle about it, but he needed to gage their reaction to any and all hints as to _what_ their shield-mate _was_ , exactly. If any of them knew, Loki would milk their minds dry of the information and finally find some solid ground. He did not like being in the dark about anything, especially when it somehow involved him, and especially now that he only had three days left on this miserable realm before he was carted off to Asgard again. 

 

“Because he was with you in the tower before the battle,” the captain stated, jaw jutted out in determination. But determination was all he had, he simply had no presence. Whatever he represented was as meaningless as the colors he wore into battle. All in all, Loki was not intimidated, impressed, or charmed in any fashion, and therefore decided that the man deserved to be treated as pointlessly as he was. 

 

Loki ignored him. 

 

“You were the last one to see him alive!”

 

Loki flinched and caught himself just before rising his head. 

 

_Damn him. Perhaps he does have something under all that… righteousness._

 

The man paced in front of the glass, mercifully missing Loki’s minute reaction to his statement. But it was too late, Loki just had to know now what he meant.

 

“Tis no fault of mine that he passed on,” he drawled, raising his head just enough to watch the solider’s eye twitch. “If he _has_ passed on, after all.”

 

 

The man muttered, “Well…”, and clenched his jaw again. Apparently the ability to lie tactically was lost under all that goodness. 

 

Loki sneered across the space between them and decided to push it after all. He was getting bored, really, there was no other reason he needed to know if the man was alive. 

 

“Why bother pretending he’s dead when you have a very dead… what was he again? Agent…?”

 

“Coulson… Yeah, thanks for reminding me that you’re the monster I already thought you were.”

 

“ _Monster_ is such a cruel word,” Loki said, voice brittle with ice. “I prefer ‘cleanser’, or, if you are feeling more honorable, ‘King’.” 

 

The solider locked eyes on him, and Loki spared a moment to lament the lack of rage in him. He simply looked… disappointed. Loki’s own rage flared up out of no where, quickly replacing his usual cool-temper with an irrational flame of hatred that usually only came from his father—Odin’s treatment. 

 

“You will get nothing from me, worm,” he spit, and turned full around to ignore him once again. 

 

“I didn’t expect much,” he heard before the outer door slid shut. 

 

Loki rattled the cuffs a few times, trying and failing to expel his fury with bursts of flame, or ice, or _something_. Of course, nothing happened, and Loki was left to simmer, and plan, and hate everyone. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Will he not awaken?”

 

“No, Thor, he’s in a coma.”

 

“I do not understand, if you have healed him, why is he still ill?”

 

Clint looked up from his chair on the far side of the medical room and squinted at the large blonde. “Wait, you guys don’t have comas up there in space? No one hits their head really hard and doesn’t wake up?”

 

“Clint, you’re being tactless,” Natasha pointed out, not sounding particularly bothered by it. She was busy studying the same chart she and Banner had studied a hundred times already. It still said the same thing, and nothing had changed. “I’m sure Thor has some impressive and advanced medical technology.”

 

Thor shrugged and looked down at the man who could have been sleeping, if not for the number of wires and tubes connected to him, or the pallor of his skin that was not a sign of someone healthy. 

 

“We do have some advancements, but it is not often that one of the warriors of Asgard hit their heads so hard as to succumb to this,” the god replied, gesturing to the still figure below him.

 

“Thick skulls?”

 

Thor cracked a small smile. “Indeed, very thick.”

 

Natasha gave a rueful smile of her own and placed the clipboard back on the end of the bed, noting, not for the first time, that Stark’s core temperature was unnaturally high. That was the only thing that seemed out of odds with his current state, which was technically ‘vegetable’ right now. Normally, his body temperature would be low, with most of his body functions shut down to their most basic level. Even his breathing was all thanks to the machine, so where was all that extra heat coming from?

 

There was a knock on the door, and Rogers popped his head in. “Hey, any changes?”

 

“Not unless you count the doodle Clint made on your coffee cup.”

 

“I wasn’t going to count that,” Steve sighed, making Natasha narrow her eyes at him. 

 

“I take it your interview didn’t provide you with any intel.”

 

“Nope. Not unless you count Loki pissing me off.” He slipped into the room, closing the door behind him and adding, “Again.”

 

Natasha simply shrugged and curled up on the chair next to Clint. She had been in his position before, and didn’t relish the thought of doing it again. Loki had a way about him that even she found disconcerting, and there was the fact that something was off about this entire situation, not just Stark’s current state, but the entire battle. 

 

“Steve—I can call you Steve, right?”

 

Rogers blinked at Clint and nodded, gesturing for the archer to continue. 

 

Clint sat up and studied him seriously before speaking, “The guy’s not going to help us, so I don’t see why you keep going down there. He’s crazy, and not the fun at parties kind of crazy. He’s fucking _sick_.”

 

Thor let our a grunt of irritation, but knew better than to comment, this time. There had already been one screaming match between them when Thor had tried to defend his brother—a little—when Clint went off on a tangent about Loki. Natasha had shut them down, reminding them that they were both wrong and that no one wanted to deal with their shit right now so sit down and shut up, some people were _dead_.

 

Steve, however, had no qualms with denying Clint’s statement. “He’s not crazy, i’ve met crazy. He’s intelligent, and that’s sort of worse, I think.”

 

Clint grumbled something and went back to drawing on everyone’s cups in silence. The sound of his scribbling grew so loud at one point that Natasha growled something in Russian at him and finally dragged him out of the room. 

 

Thor and Steve exchanged looks and took their places in the previously occupied chairs. 

 

“So… You’re an alien?” Steve asked, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. 

 

“I suppose many on Midgard would call me that. Lady Darcy has several times now.” Thor furrowed his brow. “Although I never quite understood the meaning.”

 

Steve simply hummed and nodded and looked away again. The atmosphere became awkward, and neither men knew how to break it. In the silence, his gaze was inevitably drawn to Stark’s still body, as pale and lifeless as the day they brought him in. It had been three days already, three days of a city still in panic, of people healing or grieving or blaming others. The worse part was that they weren’t allowed to help, at least, not most of them. Fury had made it clear that after their part of the battle had been carefully scrutinized, it would be better to leave the clean up to SHIELD and the other government agencies they called in. 

 

“Heroes,” he had said, “are what they want to see on the front lines, and the government is what they want to see fixing up their lives up after the fact.”

 

So, no one was allowed off the base since they brought Stark in, even Banner, who, in the end, seemed much more determined to stay than any of them. Natasha had frowned at this, but refrained from commenting, and as usual, observed from afar. 

 

That was all they seemed to be doing right now, tip-toeing around one another and waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was growing more tense by the hour, and Steve had no idea what to do to stop it, other than to wake Tony Stark up.

 

He had the strangest feeling everything would fall back into place once he did. 

“Where do you leave to now?” Thor asked, looking up as Steve stood. “Not to speak to my brother again, surely?”

 

Steve chewed his lip with a strange bubble of guilt. “I know you want to go see him… it’s just that they don’t—“

 

“Trust me not to be fooled by him again,” Thor finished for him, a shadow falling over his features. “As much as I understand their concern, they must know that he will be turned over to me for our departure, I see not why I must sit by and allow others to speak to him when I can not.”

 

Steve frowned at him and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Maybe you can come with me? If i’m there, he can’t get the drop on you as easily.” The dark look deepened and he added quickly, “If he could at all.”

 

Thor’s eyes flickered to the left, and Steve knew he was considering the possibilities that could arise from taking the chance with Fury’s fury. 

 

“Do you truly think it will help him?” he asked quietly. 

 

Steve followed his gaze and grimaced. “Yeah, I have a feeling Loki knows more about this than he’s letting on.”

 

That seemed to do it for the god, because Thor was up and at the door before Steve had fully registered his movement. He was half way down the hall before Steve managed to close the door and run after him. 

 

“Do _you_ think he can help him?”

 

Thor’s tight smile didn’t exactly measure him, and neither did his words. 

 

“If he feels it is in his best interest, perhaps.”

 

* * *

 

 

Loki’s eyes had fallen closed soon after the soldier’s departure. He had exhausted himself during the battle, before the battle, and before even that. His time with—no, he wouldn’t even think of his name. His time in _his_ talented, cruel hands had wrung more energy and more pain out of him than anything else in his long life thus far. Although he did have the luxury of Ragnarock some day, and perhaps that would take its rightful place as the more horrific experience of his life. 

 

For now, he was hollow, and he allowed himself to be so. It was the quiet before yet another storm, and Loki had no direction to go in anymore, anyway. He should be allowed a moment to simply drift, to float—

 

_Need._

 

Loki’s eyes snapped open. 

 

Where had that come from? He knew his inner voice well enough to recognize a stranger’s voice in his mind. Loki cast a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure he had not simply been mistaken, perhaps someone had spoken aloud. No, no one was there.

 

_Need._

_Please._

 

A hiss escaped his lips, and his attempt to throw up his mental shields was shattered when his magic, once again, did not respond. He bitterly reminded himself that he was was lucky, at least, that the glamour hiding his true form remained intact under the dampening power of the shackles. 

 

“ _Of course I cannot block it, but I can at least silence them if they are close enough_ ,” Loki groused silently, crossing his legs and falling into his usual posture for meditation. 

 

_Want… please._

 

The voice drifted, growing softer and stronger as Loki tried to focus on a direction. It was almost a child’s voice, too small and fragile to belong to an adult. 

 

_Where?_

_Where?_

_Can’t smellcan’t feel._

 

_Can’t…_

 

Loki furrowed his brow and forced his mind to reach out to the voice, to curl his claws around it and hold on. Rather than the fear he expected—that he _wanted_ , the creature seemed to thrive at his touch, the voice growing louder and stronger. 

 

And _familiar_. 

 

_Where am I? Oh shit, i’m dead. Fuck. Dead._

_No._

_Need. Shit, no pain. Dead?_

_Where?_

 

Loki hissed again, jerking his grip away from the mind he had finally, and unfortunately, found. Stark, it was Stark. Of course it was, he had some sort of primal connection to Loki, the one that he still could not fathom. There had been no time to examine the mortal, if he was mortal, and those wings—No, it was not important. He did not matter.

 

_“No!“_ the voice shrieked pitifully as Loki drew away and let the connection drop.

_ Please _

_ Please _

_ Ple... _

 

 

Loki shook his head in disgust and turned away from the wall, unhappy that his only escape from the fools chattering at him through the glass was now the direction of the _winged_ fool and his chattering.

 

“Loki?”

 

He flinched, it was hard not to. Somehow, the voice in his head was much more appealing than that hopeful tone Loki had grown to loath with his entire being. 

 

“ _Thor_ ,” he snarled, standing up in a single, fluid movement and approaching the glass. “I see you returned with the solider.”

 

“He believes you know something of Stark’s condition,” Thor said, looking very much like he didn’t believe it. 

 

The usual need to rebel flared up in Loki’s mind and before he could dampen it down within a reasonable limit, he said, “I do.”

 

Both men were startled, but not as much as himself. What good was it for them to know this? He certainly wasn’t going to tell them about the voice, or the fact that—right under their very noses—Stark had flown through the entire ship just to see _him_. He would not mention the wings, or the conversation they had in the tower. So why tell them anything at all?

 

Ah, perhaps leverage.

No, _escape_.

 

Loki’s lips tipped into a wolfish grin he just knew was unnerving, and tilted his head to the side. 

 

“I believe I can assist with your problem,” he said, “If you would be so kind as to let me out.”

 

The solider openly scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. It was a defensive gesture, but also unsure. The man had been down to speak to Loki five times in the past few days, always asking the same questions, always seeking the same thing. A cure for Stark’s ailment. The man was clearly beyond doubt if he had finally brought his foolish brother with him. His denial would not last, Loki decided. Desperation called for foolish mistakes, such as letting him out.

 

“I need to touch him,” he insisted, voice bored as he dropped his gaze to his nails. “I sealed something in him when we… spoke in the tower.”

 

It wasn’t a blatant lie, he _had_ sealed something inside of the mortal, just not in the tower.

 

“What did you do to him!?” Thor roared, pressing up against the glass and raising his hammer as if to smash it. Loki spared him a glance and rolled his heads to the sky. It was better to leave his story vague, in case they thought they could achieve their goal by some other means.

 

“Let me out, and you shall see.”

 

“That will _never_ happen,” Thor promised, and Loki simply smirked and watched the solider chew on his lips thoughtfully.

 

* * *

 

 

How many times had he apologized in the past three days? How many excuses had he thrown in along with each and every one? Too many, and none of them true. At least, the excuses weren’t true, but he couldn’t exactly tell them he changed into the Hulk to protect Stark’s secret. But that was besides the point.

 

Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in a final attempt to put off a migraine just a little longer. It was a fruitless pursuit, considering he had been in one meeting or another for the past 8 hours straight, argued and fought tooth and nail to keep himself free but also to remain on the base for Stark’s sake.

 

What he really wanted to do was run, _god_ how he wanted to escape their fearful looks or worse yet, their scientific intrigue. 

 

Of course, Bruce had known they kept tabs on him when he was enjoying his so called ‘freedom’, so Romanoff’s initial appearance wasn’t all that surprising, but there was a large difference between surveillance from afar and constant scrutiny. The kind of scrutiny that lead to lab tables and needles and, of course, the Hulk.

 

But he couldn’t go now, not after what he had seen. Stark clearly needed some help, and if anyone could understand what the man was going through, it would be him.

 

“Once again, Doctor Banner, you must understand our concerns of you plan to remain in New York.”

 

Bruce mumbled something under his breath and released his nose, leveling a mild glare at the circle of people around the table. 

 

“And once again, i’ll tell you it’s not necessary to _be_ concerned. I have him under my control, which you would know if you really have been spying on me all this time. I only had one incident in the past two years, what better proof do you need than that?”

 

“Yet you lost control just recently, endangering hundreds of agent’s lives,” Agent Hill reminded him. To her left Fury grunted and leaned down to whisper something in her ear. “There is also the fact that you refuse to answer any questions regarding Stark’s disappearance before your incident and the unidentified person/object that attacked before Loki’s escape. You can’t possibly expect us to _trust_ you if you continue to refuse to answer anything?”

 

“I _can_ possibly expect you to trust me,” Bruce snapped, the vein in his forehead twitching. Hulk was rumbling around in the back of his mind, and for once, he and Bruce were of one mindset. 

 

_Stupid humans._

 

“Look, I can’t explain what happened because I don’t _know_ what happened,” he continued, keeping his story as simple as possible. Only for the tenth time, already. “One minute we were fine, then the next, something’s there and Stark is gone. I—Hulk reacted to the danger quicker than I could have anticipated. Did I lose control? Yes. Was there some external element involved? Most likely. Can you blame me for external elements effecting the outcome? I don’t _think_ so.”

 

“You are a ticking time bomb, Doctor Banner. We simply cannot—“

 

“Listen,” Bruce interrupted, standing up with his hands pressed firmly against the table. “I’m the one who’s been dealing with this… condition for years now, not you. I know my way around difficult situations, I know my way around him. Now, i’ve done nothing but help you and the city of New York since you dragged me in here to, supposedly, ‘just help with the tracking’. I’m not an idiot, you built that nice glass chamber for me, you put it on that helicarrior, and you invited me on board. No one actually believes that you didn’t have any ulterior motives for getting me on board, so you can stop pretending, it’s embarrassing.”

 

“Let me also draw attention to the point you all seem to continuously miss. You keep _threatening_ me while telling me I have no way to control myself. You’ve cornered and badgered me for days, you’ve broken several of my conditions in regards to privacy and fair treatment, and you’ve insulted my intelligence over and over again. And I’m still standing here. _Me_ , not Hulk. Now what does that tell you?”

 

Fury shifted, catching Bruce’s attention. To his surprise, the man was actually smirking. 

“It tells me you got this, Doctor Banner.”

 

Bruce let out a sigh and stood up straight. “I got this. Now will you please let me get back to doing what I stayed here for? Stark needs more attention then he is receiving.”

 

Hill scowled and began to say something else when a man came bursting into the room yelling for the director. 

 

“What?” Fury snapped. 

 

“It’s Loki, sir.”

 

Fury pushed away from the table and stomped over, Hill joining him only seconds later. The rest of the men seated stood and darted to different stations, chattering into microphones, checking screens.

 

“Did he escape?” 

 

The man glanced around the room nervously, his eyes lingering on Bruce for a long moment.

 

“Er… not exactly.”

 

“Then what, _exactly_ , happened?”

 

“Well, Thor and Captain America… let him out.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Loki was in a near state of bliss, and for something so simple as a little more _air_. But when you have spent the last few days in a space smaller than his bathroom back in Asgard, you tend to celebrate the little things. 

 

Not that his release was such a little thing. The perfect manipulation involved in coercing them to do as he wished had been delicious, and the constant rumble of discontent coming from Thor was equally pleasing. Now all he needed was to execute his plan, which he could not do until he was in the presence of the winged-pest who, thankfully, was no longer whining in his mind. Again, it was the little things. 

 

“This is a very unwise decision,” Thor repeated for the tenth time, the hand on Loki’s arm tightening. On his right, the solider continued to glare ahead as he tugged Loki between them like Loki had been resisting. As if he _would_. 

 

“Look, i’m not going to say that this is all his fault,” the captain said. “Because it’s a little bit of everyone’s fault if you think about it, and I don’t want that guilt weighing on us anymore. If Loki can help, even a little, then let’s give it a try.”

 

“It is unwise to trust anything he says.”

 

“I am right here, you know,” Loki drawled, putting on a dramatic grimace when Thor’s fingers curled in even more. He would do better to keep them thinking they are the ones with all the power, if anything, for the sweet surprise on their faces when he proved them wrong. 

 

“He’s not going anywhere, Thor.”

 

Loki bit back a smirk. “Only to where is this avian friend of yours is.”

 

It was worth the confused—and telling—looks he received, even if they gave no answer. No, no one knew about those golden wings. His plan was going smoother than he could ever hope. 

 

When they finally reached their destination, a slate door opened before them and the red-haired woman stepped out. Loki sneered at her, but a bubble of panic stirred in his chest at the same time. It was small, fluttery, and it took him a moment to realize it was not his own. 

 

_Pleasepleaseplease._

 

_Yes, I need you._

 

“Oh _wonderful_ ,” Loki hissed quietly at the voice. 

 

“What the _hell_ is he doing here?” she hissed back, looking past him to the nervous captain. 

 

“He knows what’s going on with Stark,” he insisted. “and we’re out of options here. You heard what Doctor Banner said, Stark’s running out of time.”

 

“We all heard, but that doesn’t mean letting a war criminal into his room is going to solve anything. We’re not _that_ desperate yet, Rogers.”

 

“Yes we are! I’m not going to let Howard Stark’s son die without trying everything I can.”

 

“Steve… he’s not dying, it’s—“

 

“I know what dying looks like, Romanoff, and that’s it.”

 

Loki stiffened. If Stark died before he could set his plans in motion, everything was for naught. His entire future pivoted on that one, obnoxious man and he would not allow him to ruin Loki’s life. Not again. 

 

“Let me see him, _now_.”

 

The red-headed woman stared at him and said nothing. 

 

“If you do not wish to have the weight of his death hanging over you for years to come, you will allow me into that room this very moment.”

 

“I don’t let death hang over me,” She stated softly, but stepped back to allow him access. 

 

“His, you would,” Loki whispered as he passed.

 

She did not reply, which was fine since he did enjoy having the last word, and both men who had flanked him the entire way there stood back just a little as Loki approached the bed. The fear that had slowly caught ahold of him lessened as he looked over the prominent figure in his plan. He was sickly, clearly, and the sinking of the skin in his face was surely not a good sign, but he was still alive, and that was all that mattered. Now, he simply needed to wake him up. 

 

“ _Easy enough_ ”, Loki thought, and placed both hands on the man’s chest. 

 

_Oh._

 

_Mine.Oh_

_Mine, yes, stay._

 

_Pleeeeaaassseeeee…_

 

Loki scowled at the pitiful voice and closed his eyes, sending the last remaining tendrils of his magic through Stark’s body. There was just enough keeping his glamour up for him to use to force his way past the shackle’s power. There was no reason to worry about his blue skin appearing before them, there would not be enough time for them to react, if things went according to plan. He was searching for what he had left inside the mortal, hidden in a spell meant to bind back his wings and— _Yes_ —there it was. Loki nearly laughed out loud as he curled his fingers around it, and pulled the magic free. 

 

Electricity crackled across his skin, the lights blaring up around them with a loud hum, whiting out everything until the glass exploded and rained down on their bodies.

 

“Stop him!” Someone shouted as darkness fell. 

 

Loki let free a wild burst of laughter as he pulled every last drop of his magic free from he man’s body, until the shackles shattered under his power. He didn’t have long to rejoice, however, because several things were happening at once. Firstly, the back-up power had returned to them their precious light, which, in turn, gave them all a full view of his true form. And secondly, Stark sat up, screaming, as a pair of bloodied, golden wings burst forth from his back. 

 

It was the _perfect_ distraction _._

 

With one last laugh, Loki spun on his heel and disappeared in a flicker of gold, leaving the most beautiful chaos in his wake. 

 

* * *

 

 

Nothing had ever, _ever_ hurt as bad as this did. Whatever this was that was hurting him—well, technically everything was hurting so it was hard to pin down the cause. What really sucked was the empty feeling inside, because at least before he had something to hold on to, something warm beating inside his chest other than his heart. It had kept him going through the haze that kept him stumbling around in the dark, along with a little angry voice that told him to _shut up, stop crying,_ _you are not dead, Norns, SHUT UP!_

 

Now, it was too bright, he felt wet, and god, people really needed to stop yelling. And maybe he actually said that out loud, because it grew silent pretty quickly. 

 

Tony swallowed and promptly choked on something in his throat, making his eyes pop open as he scrambled to pull it out. Someone was saying something, but no one was stopping him, thank god, because it was— _ohgodgross_ —coming all the way out of his—

 

Tony gagged and gave it one last yank before the tube pulled free and he gasped for breath. People were talking again, which he decided to ignore in favor of just breathing and trying to focus his eyes. The over all pain wasn’t so bad anymore, but he felt cold and damp still, which was kind of worrying. 

 

What happened? Wasn’t he just fighting? When did he get—he paused and squinted at the red tinted room around him.

 

_Oh fuck, i’m on an alien space ship._

 

A face popped up in front of him, and Tony reared back and squealed. Around him, voices began to yell over one another.

 

“Stark? Stark, calm down—“

 

“What the hell is going on, Natasha—“

 

“Where’s Doctor Banner?” 

 

“I must go after him, you cannot let him—“

 

“I’m not letting you go anywhere, not after this shit you pulled. You’re lucky I don’t—“

 

“Stark?” the blurred face in front of him repeated. 

 

“Uh…” Tony rasped, reaching up to rub at his eyes. The face became less blurry and more blonde. “Wass going on?”

 

Someone moved what looked like Steve out of his focus, and Tony had to squint to make out the group standing around him, staring. Really staring, and not just at his face like normal people would. Tony frowned, wondering why the hell they were all standing there like he had just done something wrong. Didn’t he just save the world or something?

 

“Stark, you’ve got some explaining to do,” Fury said from the middle of them all.

 

Tony frowned, glancing between the others in search of an answer. “What?”

 

“Uh…” Steve mumbled, still looking behind Tony. 

 

_Behind_ him.

 

“Oh…” he breathed, and spread the wings that weren't supposed to be there. “ _Fuck_.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Foxglove Tango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two steps forward, and two steps back. 
> 
> One, two, three. One, two, three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering the meaning behind this chapter's title:
> 
> Foxglove is poisonous, causing the heart rate to either drop or increase dramatically. It's mostly dangerous to those with a pre-existing heart condition, but when the toxicity levels are not as high, it causes tremors, convulsions, unusual visions, often appearing yellowish to green, etc.
> 
> It also takes a very long time to grow.
> 
> And thus, 
> 
> A slow, poisonous tango.

 

 

The small voice was crying.

 

And crying.

 

And _crying_.

 

And Loki? He was trying to _sleep_. 

 

“ _Would you be silent!?_ ” he snapped for the fourth time, and the voice continued to cry without a flinch. It was pointless, there was no hope for sleep with these echoing sobs and constant static from the city around him. He sneered up at the dimly lit ceiling and dragged himself off of the dingy floor with more effort than usual. It had been quite a task, traveling with so little magic at hand thanks to the shackles that still weighed heavily on his wrists, the soft clink of chains enough to ground Loki back in his newest cage.

 

 

In the moments after his— _second_ —escape from SHIELD, Loki had landed himself back in the very city he had aimed to destroy, alone, highly recognizable, and power running low. He needed a place to regroup, rest a while, and of course, remove the damned manacles. The underground catacombs where he had hidden away before, building his device with the nimble hands of his fellow enlightened souls, was both too far away, and most likely compromised. If they had freed the scientist from the hold of the Tesseract, just as the vile beast’s attack had done for him, then the location was no longer safe. The mortal may still remember enough to bring SHIELD to his doorstep. 

 

So, he had chosen somewhere high instead. A lean-to set upon the roof, spacious but worn down by its previous inhabitants. The building itself was one of the only places he could find where there were fewer mortals running around, and those that were underfoot were too inhibited to notice his presence. He had marched passed them with no fuss. 

 

The room, though, was small and hot under the afternoon sun. This was primarily due to the fact that one entire wall was made of glass, each grimy pane of glass framed with rusted metal and smeared with what seemed to be some sort of painted words. The grime did little to shade him from the sun, and Loki had managed to tuck himself into the corner to doze for a little while. It hadn’t been pretty or partially comforting, but it had been enough to get some much needed rest. Or, it would have been, if the damned mortal would stop wailing in his mind. 

 

“ _Cease_ ,” he hissed, standing and approaching the windowed-wall with a twitch of irritation. He needed a distraction, if he was not to get any sleep. Loki wasted a spark of energy cleaning a panel glass to take in the view of his almost-victory. For that was how he would think of it, optimistically. He still had time to gain some sort of upper-hand here, and if not, well, he would take as much of this realm down with him if he lost. There, optimism. 

 

Too hot. He had almost forgotten how weak this form was. No, not almost, he had forced those memories away. Never speak of it, never think of it. It was not pain. He did not _hurt_ you, He taught you. He showed you truth, He showed you what you were lacking. 

 

_It doesn’t hurt. I’m not weak._

 

 

The sun glared down on his dusty, blue skin, and he regretted letting its golden light touch him. Such light was not appropriate for a monster.

 

The crying didn’t stop. 

 

_It did not hurt._

 

The crying just _would not stop_.

 

* * *

 

 

The words would not come out, no matter how nicely formulated Tony got them inside of his head, they would not budge. And in all honestly, he deserved a gold star for even that much effort, considering the unfortunate situation he was facing. Bet no one _else_ could come up with a damn power-point explanation in their head at a time like this.

 

But, it wasn’t working. He tried a few more times, mouth opening, speech prepared with all his usual confidence and amazing jokes—he had some good ones saved up for this moment—and something short circuited somewhere between his brain and throat and nothing fucking happened. Which made everyone more antsy and ask more questions. Oh, sorry, he meant _demand_ more answers. 

 

It didn’t help that Bruce’s arrival, all out of breath and looking a little green in the gills, had triggered a full on screaming match that was mostly Fury yelling at everyone, and everyone else flinching. And then, of course, they  asked told him to explain. Again. 

 

And he tried, again.

Everything hurt.

 

He kind of felt like crying.

 

The silence after his several aborted attempts at talking was worse, somehow, than Fury’s rage-fest. Because everyone was trying so damn hard not to look at the golden-winged-elephant in the room and failing. Oh man, they were failing _so_ hard. 

 

Then Fury was saying, “Stark, i’m only going to ask you this one more time: Explain yourself,” and Tony’s speech crumbled up into dust and blew away with the rest of his mental capacities. 

 

“I don’t know,” he blurted out.

 

“You don’t know _what_?”

 

“I don’t have an explanation for this, I just don’t.”

 

The director took one, careful step forward, and everyone did that little twitch forward as if to stop him. 

 

‘ _Good to know they’re willing_ ,’ Tony thought dryly. 

 

“You really want to go down this path, Stark? Because this path is not the easy path. No, this is the stupid path that you _don’t_ want to go down. This is all sorts of shit on your head that you don’t want.”

 

“It’s already shit on my head that I don’t want,” Tony replied, curling his fingers into the sheets and willing his damn wings to go away. Just, go. 

 

They fluttered and flicked more blood across the room. Damn it.

 

“Look, I know you think i’ve got all the answers,” he began. “And that’s flattering, really, but this time I don’t know what you think I know and threatening me is not going to get you anywhere other than on my nerves and you don’t want to be on my nerves, Director.”

 

“Well aren’t you lucky, cuz you’re already on _my_ nerves. My last nerve.”

 

“You can’t steal my thing—that’s my—I just said you were on mine, get your own thing.”

 

And then Fury snarled, “ _Stark_ —“

 

And Tony’s wings snapped open behind him, knocking over pretty much every loud, metal object around his bed and successfully yanking the IV out of his hand and there was _more_ blood everywhere, which was gross, and everyone was _staring_ at them again. 

 

Never in his life had Tony wanted to chop them off as much as he did right now. Just slice away all his problems and go back to dealing with easy stuff. Like alien invasions and a walking, talking, red-white-and-blue-wearing reminder of Howard’s disappointment. Yeah, fun stuff like that. Tony would take it.

 

“Director, I don’t think this is the right approach,” Steve was saying, and thank you Steve, maybe you’re alright. “Corning someone is never a good tactic if you’re looking for information, and I don’t think Stark is one to respond to bullying. This needs to be treated more delicately.”

 

_I lied, you’re a one-star-restaurant kind of an asshole._

 

“I don’t think talking about him like he’s not here is a good _tactic_ , either,” Tony said, eyes narrowing at the solider who was carefully avoiding his gaze. And that’s when Tony noticed that Bruce was ignoring everyone ,because he was the only decent human being in the room, and had started picking up the all the stuff Tony had knocked over. He was even going so far as to hook him back up to his fluids, because he needed those. Probably. 

 

Tony decided to spare the scientist a smile of appreciation, and was pleased to get one flashed in return. 

 

“Banner…” Came Fury’s command, speaking slowly. “You need to step away from Stark, now.”

 

 

Somewhere in the room, there was that little click of a gun-holster being unsnapped that Tony could recognize anywhere. And why did they keep doing this? Why did they keep making situations ten times more tense by playing with their weapons?

 

“What do you think i’m going to do?” Bruce snapped over his shoulder. “Taint him with my ‘revolutionary ideals’?”

 

Someone snorted in the group and this time it wasn’t Tony. Not that it wasn’t funny, but he was too wound up to respond to anything properly anymore and besides, Bruce decided to do something stupid, and reached out to move a wing out of the way of the heart monitor. 

  
Tony tried to jump away and an unholy screech tore itself from his lips. 

 

It was horrible and embarrassing, and _holy shit please just kill me now. Let me go before all of my dignity is lost. Anything is better than this. Give me aliens any day. Give me Loki._

 

_Wait, no, don’t go there._

 

He was already halfway off the bed, one wing dangling to the floor, body wrapped over the edge from where he had torn himself away from Bruce’s touch like it burned. A quick look around the room told him that two guns were drawn, which really, was a little better than Tony expected, and that Rogers looked suspiciously like he’d shit himself.

 

But no one was looking away now, no one was smiling or asking anymore questions. And there was really no avoiding it now, he’d seen that look before. Years ago when Howard stalked across the dining room to glare down at the creature that was once his son.

 

Like he was a rabid animal.

 

Some part of him, that had softly, so softly, been crying out for help, finally broke.

* * *

 

 

Regardless of all the noise Loki must have finally managed to fall asleep in the darkest, cleanest corner of the room. When he awoke, he felt disgusting, hot, and irritable. At least the crying seemed to have stopped while he slept, and he was thankful for at least some small reprieve in the chaos around him.

 

Something fluttered past him and his knife chased it through the air before his mind had time to catch up with his body. The bird, some sort of fat, gray thing, was dead before it hit the wall with a wet thud. 

 

“I’ve had quite enough of winged things, I think,” Loki murmured, standing and removing the blade from the bird. It fell to the floor, a trail of bright red standing out against the gray dust and black mold.

 

‘ _What finally silenced the mortal?’_ Loki wondered. 

 

‘ _Perhaps he died_ ,’ his mind provided. 

 

“No,” Loki spoke to the bird’s corpse at his feet. He did not think that was true. How he knew, he was not sure, but there something burning in his chest at the sight of bloodied feathers. That mortal, he may not be dead, but something had changed in the past few hours to silence him. 

 

“What does it matter?”

 

The bird did not have an answer. 

 

The ache grew stronger the longer he stared at the cooling body below him. Pain like hooks tearing into his flesh and pulling—pulling him away from his safety. Pull him back to those confused, golden eyes.

 

“I will not,” He snapped, tucking the knife away with the others he had stowed upon his person, and with a glower at the bird, stalked back to his corner. There had better not be more pests in his room, he did not take kindly to flying rats, nor reminders of a certain flying-imbecile. 

 

_Troubling silence._

 

“I said I would _not_ go to him.”

 

_He was crying._

 

“Enough.”

 

_Like a child._

 

“Stop.”

 

_Like you used to cry._

 

“NO!” Loki screamed, power welling up in his finger tips and flooding down his arms to his chest.  

 

The shackles crackled with the effort to contain his magic. But the blue turned to pale flesh once again, and Loki had _forgotten_ his monster was showing. How had he forgotten something he loathed so much?

 

_Bad._

 

Loki groaned. _That_ had not been his own voice, not this time. Spinning on his heel, he strode across the room, tore the door open, and exited to the rooftop. The sun had long since set, yet the city was aglow with all colors as far as he could see.

 

_Bad._

 

“Yes, listening to you whine is _bad_ ,” Loki sighed, leaning against the metal railing. Heat still rose from the roof, but the night air had a chill to it that Loki’s tunic and vest would not be sufficient protection from. Besides, he really was utterly disgusting with dust, blood, and sweat covering him from head to foot. 

 

 

_Bad._

“I liked you better when you were silent.”

 

_‘No, you were worried,’_ his own thoughts offered. _‘Fretting. Wanting. Protect him. Go now. Go.’_

 

_‘Go!’_

 

Loki ground his teeth, dropping his head onto his arms to block the lights out. What good was a connection to some useless mortal? He was weak, clever, perhaps, but so weak and pointless. Everything Loki had learned about him from the files the archer had provided showed little room for improvement. The mortal suffered from some sort of defect—there had been no details in that report—and had not come far since his ‘accident’. In fact, nothing seemed to change for Stark at all. The same troubles, the same response, the same people, the same secrets. 

 

_‘What of those wings, though?’_

 

_Need._

 

Ah, stubborn, too. 

 

_Needneedneedneedneed—_

 

Loki silently roared at the voice, sending a sharp spike of hatred and magic across the connection as strongly as possible. 

 

Finally, there was silence again. Troubling silence. 

 

“I refuse to go to him,” Loki whispered, and the lights of the city seemed to lose their color as he stared out under a heavy weight of some unknown emotion.

 

 

* * *

 

 

40 miles away, Tony Stark arched against the straps holding him down, and screeched in pain. This time, he didn’t have the luxury of shame. This time, Other Tony was in control, and Other Tony was already a mess. His face was sticky with sweat and tears, his hair was sticking up from where he writhed around in his attempts to get free, and bruises were forming around his wrists and ankles from the useless straining against his bonds. 

 

“You need to stop this!” someone was yelling.

 

“He’s not reacting to anything we did,” someone else replied. “He’s supposed to be on a sedative, I don’t even know how he’s still conscious.”

 

“He’s in pain!”

 

There was the shuffling of paper and a thoughtful hum. “He’s here for his own safety _and_ ours, Rogers, no one is hurting him.”

 

“He just screamed, you can’t tell me that’s—“

 

“And we did nothing to cause that,” the other voice responded, sounding impatient. “If you have any qualms with how we’re handling this situation, I suggest you take it up with Director Fury.”

 

“… He’s busy.”

 

“Well, the current situation is not exactly ideal. Personally, i’m glad to be assigned on Stark, rather than Banner right now.”

 

The other voice— _Rogers,_ his mind provided—made a sort of angry huffing noise and fell silent. Tony wanted to ask him for help—didn’t he know him? Wasn’t he good? He would help Tony. 

 

_No._

 

_No, only him._

 

“Far away,” Tony whispered into the silence, and jerked his body against the straps again. 

 

“You can’t do this,” Rogers was saying. It was the same thing, the same words. Tony didn’t need words. He needed his wings. He needed cold. 

 

It was so hot in here, he was dying. 

_Too hot._

 

_Need._

 

_Need need need need needneedneedneedneedneed—_

 

Another roar sent him collapsing against the bed with a whimper. Each one was more painful than the last. Because it was him, Loki. Loki was pushing him away. He couldn’t do that.

 

_Unwanted._

_Unneeded._

_Please!_

 

“We’re going to have to give him something stronger if this keeps up.”

 

“You’re killing him. You’re killing a god-damn _hero_.”

 

“Contrary to your belief, Rogers, we know what we are doing. We’ve handled several cases of serum failures before. Hulk was one of them.”

 

“Uh huh,” Rogers hummed dryly. “Because Hulk’s being so well handled right now.”

 

“Not my department.”

 

There was a pause, in which Tony tried to call out again and, no, nothing. No.

 

And then Rogers—Captain? Who was he?—was speaking again, “You think this is another serum trial?” 

 

“Well what else could it be?” the man replied loudly over another one of Tony’s shrieks. “He’s showing similar symptoms of the other failed cases.”

 

“You’ve had other cases with wings?”

 

“No, not wings. That’s something new. But the elevated temperature, the descent into insanity.” he paused and added thoughtfully, once again shuffling through his papers. “Although… his brain activity is much higher than all the other cases.”

 

“What does that mean? Is he—“

 

“Dr. Johnson, report!” someone shouted. “Rogers, you’re not allowed to be in here. Debriefing in the war room in twelve.”

 

“I’m not leaving him here for your scientists to kill him with an overdose of sedatives. He’s one of us, he doesn’t deserve to be treated like this!”

 

“No one’s dying today, Captain. Now go, that was a direct order.”

 

‘ _No!’_ Tony’s mind screamed. ‘ _Don’t. No. Help…_ ’

 

Foot steps. Papers shuffling together and a low mumbling. No one was helping him. No one cared, not even his… not even Loki. 

 

Loki was supposed to care. Loki was _needed_.

 

“—do what you have to, just knock him out. We got bigger problems right now.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Another pain, smaller than the burning in his chest. Tony squirmed to get away from it, but he was too late. Something had gotten in, something rotten. 

 

The disorienting brightness began to fade, eaten away by the dark bite by bite. 

 

_Bad._

 

 

_Loki,_ **_please_ ** _._

 


	8. Ice Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers had a mission: Save the two guys who's lives Loki had ruined. 
> 
> Loki had a mission: To get Stark to shut up. 
> 
> Guess which one gets there first?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ will be edited soon. ]

 

 

The door closed behind him with a definitive snap. Then, all eyes were on him and for one dizzying moment, Steve was thrown back in time to his Howling Commandos gathered around the fire, waiting for him to share the plan. Once again, he was the man they looked to, their leader. This time, the Avengers had a new mission. A rescue mission. 

 

“I know no one’s happy with me right now,” he began, only to be interrupted by Thor: 

 

“I would have words with you about several things, Captain.”

 

Steve put a hand up and continued, “I know, look, it’s complicated. I’m not the only one who panicked right there.”

 

“He is our friend, our shield brother.”

 

“I _know_ , Thor, that’s why we need to get him out of there.”

 

“Out of where?” Natasha asked, leaning forward in her seat. 

 

“Some kind of a lab three floors down,” he explained. “I assume you know your way around all the floors?”

 

She made a face and leaned back glancing over at Clint with a small frown. The archer looked back, and shrugged. 

 

“Well?” Steve pressed, unimpressed by their lack of interest. Then again, he met a lot of guys back in the war who dealt with things with the same kind of attitude. These two were a lot like them, kept their emotions at bay while they fought. Live through another day, sleep when they’re dead. 

 

_The world can’t get to me if I just don’t care._

 

“I don’t have access to every room,” she said, not looking away from Clint’s strengthening glare. “But Barton can access the room, if it’s the one I think it is.”

 

“Aww, Nat…”Clint made a face and sunk into the couch with a pout. “Why do you always got to do this to me?”

 

“You like crawling through ceilings, Barton,” she quipped, and looked back to Steve. “He’s in compartment 42C, right?”

 

Steve blinked at her and thought back to twenty minutes ago.

 

_“Fury! I’ll fucking—!“_

 

“Sir, are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked, running alongside the men carrying Stark. He was already strapped down to a stretcher, with severaltranquilizer darts sticking out of his body. They didn’t seem to be doing a lot of good.

 

“—Get me the fuck off of this—!”

 

“He’s unstable, Rogers,” the director answered, sending the stretcher along in front of them and falling back to speak to someone in a lab coat. “Up the dosage, keep him strapped to the table. I will not have anymore flying business in my base, you hear me?”

 

“He’s corned, Director, of course he’s going to lash out like this, it’s not his fault,” Steve insisted, feeling guilty. He had reacted too little too late, for both Stark and Bruce. 

 

“Look, I get that, but he hurt my men back on the ship and we need to remember that he also flew off to talk to Loki during the middle of a god damn war. Now think hard on that, and we’ll talk later. I got an angry, green giant to deal with.”

 

From behind him, Stark’s voice rang out one last time, _“Fury! God dammit, I’ll kill—!“_

 

“Steve?”

 

He blinked again, and Tony was gone, replaced by the curious faces of his teammates. 

 

“Uh, I didn’t… it wasn’t 42C, no.” he said, running a hand through his hair in the same nervous gesture he’d had since he was a kid. He could almost hear Bucky laughing at him and calling him an overgrown punk for keeping the gesture long after he stopped having panic attacks and grew a few hundred pounds more muscle. 

  
He needed to stop. Today was a bad day for reminiscing, they had more important things to do. 

 

“It was 45C. Real big, lots of… stuff that i’ve seen in a Hydra base, once.”

 

Natasha gave him a look and stood up from the couch, dragging Clint along with her. 

 

“Alright, that’s going to be a much harder room to get into. But, if you’re serious about this,” Steve nodded in confirmation, “Then we really need to think about what we’re going to do after we break a winged man out of a highly secure facility we are supposed to be _working_ for.”

 

“Can we not convince Fury to let him go? He has done nothing wrong, it is my brother who manipulated the situation to escape.”

 

Everyone turned to Thor with varying looks of surprise. He’d always been on the fence about Loki, but this was the first time he had admitted point blank that Loki had fucked things up. Again. 

 

“Thor,” Steve began, “I don’t think that’s an option. He’s got Tony full of tranquilizers, strapped down to a table, and that’s just the beginning. Tony didn’t tell us… what he is, and that’s not going to fly with the director, I just know it.”

 

“And what do you think he is?” Thor asked.

 

Natasha shrugged, pulling out her phone and tapping at it as she spoke, “We thought you might know, to be honest.”

 

Thor shook his head. “Nay, I have only seen one winged race, and they are not found on Midgard.”

 

“Could one have come here?”

 

“I do not think so, they have little interest in leaving their libraries.”

 

“Libraries? Winged people in a library,” Clint muttered. “That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”

 

“I hear there are often fires,” Thor admitted with a chuckle.

 

“He’s most likely a mutant,” Natasha said, looking up from her phone at Steve, who blinked back at her. Why did she seem to expect a reaction out of him? He had no idea what a mutant was. 

 

She looked away into the corner, and tapped her phone’s screen one last time. 

 

“What are you doing?” Steve asked. 

 

“Disconnecting the cameras,” She replied, slipping the phone into her pocket and pulling them in close. “Fury expects some level of planning from us, which we just did. Everything else needs to be off record and we have about three minutes before someone notices the connection is cut. We need a plan, and we need one now.”

 

“First, we need to get Tony out of here as quickly and discreetly as possible, so Thor, you’re probably going to need to carry him,” Steve directed, getting a nod of approval from the god. Looking to Clint, Steve continued, “You and Natasha are the only ones who know your way around this base, I’ll need you to be our eyes and ears for incoming agents. Maybe a distraction?”

 

“Is Hulk still on the loose?” Clint asked. 

 

“Last time I heard, yeah, but it’s been quiet for a while now, so I think Banner’s back among us.”

 

“Damn, we need to locate him, too.”

 

“Affirmative. No one’s getting left behind.”

 

“Yes,” Natasha agreed dryly. “But _how_?”

 

Steve flashed her a smile. He may be the old man of the group, but they still trusted him to get them through this. 

 

He ran a hand through his hair again, ignored Bucky’s teasing voice in the back of his mind, and told them the plan.

 

* * *

 

 

“He _hates_ me.”

 

“He does not hate you, darling, he simply expresses himself differently.”

 

“But why?”

 

His mother sighed and brushed a stray hair from Tony’s forehead. “That is just how he is.”

 

“But he hurts me,” Tony insisted, face screwed up in pain from both his freshly wounded back and the crick in his neck. “He hurts me all the time, mom.”

 

“To keep you safe.”

 

Even to an 11 year old Tony, that sounded like a lie. Sure, they had explained _why_ he wasn’t in school anymore, and _why_ he had to have the wings removed, and _why_ he couldn’t leave the house—with the exception of certain public events they had to be at to smile and wave at people . But none of their reasons made any sense to him. He saw plenty of other kids at school who were a little different, and, sure, none of them had wings, but he would be different _and_ cool. Wings were cool, _everyone_ wanted to fly. He wasn’t like Danny, with the leg braces and the canes. Danny could barely walk, which Tony thought was stupid, someone should just attach wheels to him. He’d go so much faster and people would stop laughing at him when he stumbled down the hall.

 

But that wasn’t the point. The point was, Tony didn’t want to hurt anymore. Every week, his wings grew in slowly, with a few aches and pains here and there, and once they had reached the point where they were noticeable under his loose shirts, Howard would strap him down and cut them off again. 

 

And it always hurt. 

 

Always. 

 

“Hush, Tony,” Maria whispered. “You will be just fine, my little angel.”

 

“Don’t call him that,” Howard’s voice came, shattering their small peaceful bubble, and earning him a sharp glare from his mother. 

 

“I can call him what I want.”

 

“Not an angel,” he said, stepping into the room with the saw already in hand. 

 

Tony squeezed his eyes shut. It was okay, it was only for a minute, and maybe this would be the last time. Maybe they won’t grow back again. 

 

Metal bit into flesh and bone, and Tony didn’t cry out. 

 

It hurt. 

 

“You’re _not_ an angel.”

 

It always hurt.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

_I’m not an angel._

 

‘ _Well, that is true_ ,” Loki thought, more to himself than to the voice. He sighed and continued on, this time making sure his words were heard loud and clear. ‘ _These_ _angels of yours do not exist. There are the Valkyrie, who ride on winged horses and come for those dead in battle, the Seï, who grow old amongst their books and spells, and then there is you._ ’

 

_Me._

 

_Hurt._

 

_‘What are you, Stark?’_

 

_Hurt._

 

_‘What manner of creature?’_

 

_Not an angel._

 

“Imbecile,” Loki muttered out loud, as unimpressed as he was as morning dawned and the voice began, once again, to speak to him. It had been mostly small, pathetic sounds that had eventually lead into simple words, and then this nonsense about angels. 

 

_A Monster._

 

Loki flinched. Even if the words were obviously not directed at him, still, he flinched. It sounded too much like himself, that inner voice of his that still cried like a child when Thanos sunk his claws into Loki’s chest and _pulled_. The same voice that kept him company in the void, that whispered promises of love, of family. 

 

The Liar, the Child.

 

The Fool. 

 

“I do wish you would die already,” Loki drawled to the rising sun. Birds had taken flight, dancing through the light this way and that, until the smell of food rose with the morning mist, and they departed for their breakfast. Loki’s stomach growled at the thought of a meal. It had been far too long since he had had the luxury of food, food enough to fill his stomach and not poison him. 

 

_Hurting. Someone… They’re hurting me._

 

_Howard’s hurting me._

 

“Silence.”

 

_Daddy…_

 

Loki’s heart stopped, because no, it was impossible to listen to this and not feel the correlation. Impossible. It was _impossible_.

 

‘ _If I save you_ ,’ Loki wondered, silently, ‘what does that make me?’

 

_An angel._

 

‘ _A monster_ ,’ Loki replied, and stood tall. 

 

_I need you._

 

Loki shook his head, trying and trying to ignore the plan forming in his mind. 

_I need you_

_Loki._

 

Ah, there it was. Taken out of his hands by his heart. 

 

“I am going to kill myself over you,” Loki snarled, spinning on his heel and disappearing into the void. 

 

He hated Stark, and Thor, and all the mortals, and Odin, and Thanos. 

 

But mostly, he hated himself. 

 

* * *

 

 

His arrival went unnoticed, thankfully. It seemed the building in which Stark was being held was under some sort of siege. That, or the great, green beast was on another rampage. Either way, Loki welcomed the distraction, as his magic was nearing a dangerous low. 

 

The room he found himself in was disgusting. There was no other word for it. The equipment was rudimentary by Asgard’s standards, but Loki knew a torture device when he saw one. 

 

He saw many.  

 

And bound to a metal slab, was the winged man, body stiff and damp from sweat, wings sealed together with some sort of gelling agent. He looked far worse than when Loki had left him, and some—very—small part of him pitied Stark for what Loki had surely caused by his revealing of the wings. He worried, for a moment, if the mortal was fully uncurious at this point, the silence having returned upon his arrival. 

  
But as soon as Loki approached the table, two golden eyes opened and stared at him sharply. 

 

“Well isn’t this interesting,” Stark said, his voice surprisingly clear of pain, if not a little too confident. Obviously the man had learned to hide his pain. Loki was all too familiar with the practice. 

 

“You annoyed me to the point of rescuing you,” Loki snapped, tracing a finger over the bond around Stark’s left wrist. The metal cracked and fell away like ice, revealing deep, purple bruises. “I see you put up quite a fight.”

 

“You should have seen how many darts I had in me. Granted, I was out for a while there, but I woke up as soon as they started… as soon as… well, I woke up. Are you going to just stand there or are you getting me out of here so I can stop whining in your ear?”

 

Loki answer with a glare and another set of spells to break him free. The wings would have to remain sealed, since Loki was not quite sure what would happen if he attempted to use magic around them again. After sealing them with his own magic before, things could get messy very quickly. 

 

“Come, quickly,” he directed, pulling Stark up from the table and ignoring his wince. “There is something distracting them for now, but I would rather not wait and see what happens next.”

 

“Yeah, I noticed people running out of here a few minutes ago.”

 

“Was that why you returned to whine at me?”

 

Stark huffed—perhaps in pain rather than laughter—and slide off the table, standing on wobbly legs. He would have to carry his own weight, there was a limit to Loki’s pity, or what ever nonsense this was. As it was, he was glad to see the man take charge of his own body, pausing only to grab a robe and pull it over his paper-thin shift that hardly covered his torso. The shivering did not stop, but they did not have time to deal with that.

 

Loki reached out to the man once he was finished haphazardly wrapping the robe around the the wings, managing only to drape it over his shoulders. 

 

“Take my hand. I will require some of your energy for this.”

 

“I don’t have a hell of a lot,” he admitted warily, slipping a hand into Loki’s easily. 

 

_Too trusting_ , Loki thought, _foolish._

 

With a grin, Stark stepped closer and allowed Loki to pull his other hand into his grasp. Contact was needed, unfortunately, and the hand was quite warm, unnaturally so for someone wearing so little. But Loki gripped it firmly and allowed himself to delve into the man’s life-force without any comments. They would have words, later. 

 

It was warm, dry, and deep. A far too deep of a pit for mere mortal. It should take decades to bore a hole such as this in someone’s soul. 

  
Loki fell into it with little worry. The hole was not the most troubling thing, here. There was darkness at the bottom, or a sort of veil that lay over everything and washed it out in a dizzying blur of shapes and movement just beyond his line of sight. 

 

And above him, a single, pale orb hung just out of reach, size and distance unknown. 

 

Something rustled in the dark. 

 

_Wings_ , Loki hoped, _just wings._  

 

 

“Wow,” Stark whispered, his breath a wash of warmth against Loki’s physical neck. It was nearly enough to draw him back. 

 

“ _Wow_.”

 

“Impressed with yourself?” Loki managed to ask, reaching towards the orb tentatively while listening for any signs of an attack. Stark was _not_ someone Loki trusted, the man could very well have learned defenses for his mind and core somewhere on Midgard. It wasn’t impossible.

 

“No, i’m pretty sure i’m not looking at _myself_.”

 

He hesitated, looking around in the gloom for any sign of Stark’s conciseness with him. When he did not see one, he asked, “What do you mean?

 

“There’s ice everywhere…”

 

Ice… 

 

But Loki had entered _his_ core, where was—?

 

“No!” He snarled, pulling himself away from the orb. What a fool he had been! Loki had known they had some sort of connection between them, not one he had ever seen before, but still, it was a bond shared. And all the while he had been looking into Stark, Stark had been looking into _him_. 

 

“Close your eyes! Look away, now!”

 

“Hey, calm down, it’s just a bunch of ice and snow. It’s kind of pretty, actually, if you look—“

 

“LOOK AWAY!”

 

“ _Ow_ ,” the man complained, physically shifting away from Loki as if struck. “Jeez, fine. That’s fair, you know, running around in my head all you want, probably peeing on everything you see, but I can’t even admire the—“

 

“ _Admire_ ,” Loki spit, reaching up and tearing the orb free with no reservations. “Do not jest.”

 

 

“And _ow_ , again. What did you just do? And, yeah, I wasn’t jesting, it’s really cool in here. No pun intended. Well, slightly intended.”

 

“You refuse to shield your eyes even though I asked,” Loki growled, starting the journey up the walls of the pit. It was more difficult than he had expected, after finding no resistance around the man’s core. Perhaps this was the trap he had worried about. 

 

“That wasn’t _asking_ , honey, that was shouting from inside my soul or where ever you are, and how can I still hear and feel you?” He paused, and Loki once again felt a breath against his neck. “Do you hear that?”

 

Loki froze, only a small gap between him and the top of the pit, and listened. He heard… beeping?

 

“Stark, if that is some sort of blocking device you have set up in your tiny mind, I shall—“

 

“Loki, get out.”

 

“I am _trying_.”

 

“Get out!”

 

Loki clawed his way over the lip of the hole, snarling, “I just said I was—“

 

Nails dug into his arm, making his eyes snap open far more quickly than was healthy. He blinked furiously, ready to reprimand the man for pulling him free too abruptly. 

 

Or, he would have if there wasn’t several weapons aimed at him by four, sturdy looking SHIELD agents. 

 

“Oh, that is why,” he commented dryly. 

 

“Yeah, kind of left the ice palace for this.”

 

A smirk crossed Loki’s lips as he smelled their fear wafting into the air. Confident poses aside, they had seen what Loki was capable, and now Stark was a monster to them, as well. A couple of monsters, standing in the middle of their precious base, holding hands—Norns, he was glad Thor was not here to see this. 

 

“Well,” he said, “We shall just be going now.”

 

Stark waved at them. The men flinched, and fired.

 

Loki couldn’t help it, he smiled as he teleported them to freedom before the blasts hit.

 

* * *

 

 

Ten minutes, several bouts of distractions, one gas-line break, Bruce-kidnapping, and a lot of smoke screens later, the Avengers burst into the, now empty, room. 

 

“Well? Where is he?”

 

“He was right here!” Steve exclaimed, rushing over to the metal table that he had seen Tony strapped to not hours before. “Look—here—the cuffs are broken. He’s escaped.”

 

From Thor’s arms, Bruce let out a long, weary groan. “Oh god, he’s not even _here_. He’s gone.”

 

“This is impossible,” Natasha stated, glancing around the room with attentive eyes. “There’s no way out of here without him having passed us at one point or another.”

 

“These are made of metal…”

 

“Yes?”

Steve held one up, and watched it crumble in his hands. Super Soldier strength or not, there was no way he could turn metal into dust like this. Either Tony Stark had powers beyond his wings, or—

 

Thor’s voice rang out, flat and filled with disappointment, “Loki took him.”

 

Steve felt the energy of the team dwindle and die within the course of a breath. They had some _so_ far, confusing agents, setting off one distraction and another, attacking from behind and incapacitating them before any one of them knew what hit them, or who. So careful, determined, so sure they would rescue him and escape. 

 

And now he was already gone, kidnapped by a lunatic for god-knows what reasoning. 

 

Steve lowered his shield, not running his hand through his hair—no—tugging at it like a nervous child. All eyes were on him, their leader, and all he could ask was:

 

“What do we do now?”

 

 

 


	9. Stranded With a Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony was wearing the equivalent of tissue paper and some hideous, puce colored robe loosely dropped across his shoulders. He was also in the middle of some kind of tropical forest with a crazy Angst God. As far as rescues go, this was definitely one of those ‘out of the frying pan into the fire’ ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki hates his time being wasted.

 

 

Far above him, hung the moon. A perfect orb of light, not marred by the usual clouds or the glow of the city lights that made New York City the stuff of songs and poems. It was larger than usual, and surrounded by unfamiliar stars that Tony would swear he’d never seen before, namely because of those same city lights blocking the view. Oh, and to the left of that, was another moon.

 

“Wait… something’s not… right there,” Tony croaked, lazily swinging his hand up to cover one of the orbs. He closed one eye and moved the hand. It was still there, and that was worrying. Clearly he was either very drunk, very high, or recently suffered a head injury. The latter felt more accurate by the minute. 

 

A cold wind—that was definitely not the New York _summer_ wind—rustled his thin hospital robe and exposed even more of his already goose-flesh covered legs. 

 

This was even more worrying.

 

 With a disgruntled moan, Tony sat up and tried to better assess the situation and possibly call out for help. If he happened to find himself, for example, in an alley way with no clothes on. Again. 

 

The two moons lit up his surroundings well enough for him to determine he was no longer in a city, or any part of New York State he’d ever seen. The trees were what one might describe as tropical, or, well, office plant-like. Tall palm trees, colorful and probably poisonous flowers, lots of sand, and thorny looking shrubs everywhere. It was the kind of place Tony would expect some hungry—again, the word ‘ _poisonous’_ came to mind—animal to appear and eat him. To top it all off, he was wearing nothing but the equivalent of tissue paper and some hideous, puce colored robe loosely dropped across his shoulders and over his—oh shit, _wings_.

 

_Loki’s magic._

_The Team._

_SHIELD._

_The table—metal table with straps and cuffs and—Needles and blades and samples and—_

 

“Oh fu—” Tony choked out just before he leaned over and heaved. His stomach tried to expel the bad memories at least a dozen times before it realized he had nothing to throw up in the first place and, really, this wasn’t helping anyone. After that, it was the long process of fighting off a panic attack with no JARVIS in his ear, no booze to drown himself in, and no high-security home to hide inside.

 

“Breathe, Tony. Breathing is… is good. In—“ he wheezed in through his nose, “—and out…” He wheezed out of his nose.

 

_Find him. Need him._

 

“Oh god, please… don’t fucking start.”

 

_Mate._

 

“No. N-not that, not ever.”

 

_FIND MATE._

 

Tony winced, curling in on himself with a groan. His own head was, apparently, working against him. Just what he needed, a mental break in the middle of who-the-fuck-knows-where with pretty-much-nothing on. Wait, that could be the title of his autobiography. 

 

_Who The Fuck Knows Where, With Pretty Much Nothing On._

 

Something brushed against Tony’s leg. 

 

“GAAAHNYOOPE!” he screeched, kicking said thing away and doing an impressive backwards crab walk to escape. He was answered with a weak groan and the creak of what could only be described as the sound of someone’s joints protesting. A sound Tony heard nearly every day after working 24 hours straight on a project. Not that Tony cared that said thing/person had joint problems, he was crawling away as fast as he could, searching the ground for a rock or a sharp stick or preferably a _gun_ —anything to protect himself with. 

 

 

“… Stark?”

 

Tony froze about ten feet away, fingers curling into the sand. He knew that voice. He recognized the way that voice said his name with so much _distain_.

 

“Loki…”

 

_MATE!_

 

_Shut up!_

 

“Ah… you are—” a wet cough cut him off, eliciting a tiny pang of concern in Tony. It was perfectly reasonable to worry about that, the guy was his ride out of here, after all. Tiny Concern swelled into Medium Concern as the coughing continued on, sounding a lot like a smoker’s cough. Howard had a cough like that, in the last few years before the accident. 

 

Tony cursed himself in ten different languages for not sucking it up and escaping SHIELD on his own, and turned back to his sort-of rescuer. The sand, however, never left his hands. If he couldn’t have a gun, a stick, or a rock, sand in the eye was the next best thing. 

 

“Okay, I _would_ say thanks for getting me out of there, but considering you’re the reason I was captured in the _first_ place, I don’t think you deserve my thanks. Secondly,” he added, stopping a few feet away from the god. “Where the fuck did you bring us?”

 

“We are… on the edges of Svartalfheim ,” Loki answered, like Tony would know where the hell that was. 

 

“ _Right_ , on the edges of Slartham. Okay, sure. It’s just a a skip down the 495 and we’re back to New York in an hour. Correct me if i’m wrong, but isn’t Slartham known for its salt water taffy? Look at us crazy kids, on a road trip down—”

 

“Svartalfheim ,” Loki repeated sharply, the double-moonlight catching his eyes are he glared at him. “Svart-alf-hame, land of the Dark Elves and the even darker caves of the Dwarves.”

 

Tony stared silently for a moment while his brain tried to catch up and simultaneously ignore the stupid voice yelling about helping his god-damn _mate_. Loki said, ‘elves’ right? Dwarves? Where had Tony heard of this Svartalfheim before? He swore he read it somewhere—years ago, probably before MIT. Grade school? Dungeons and Dragons? 

 

_Wait_! That ugly old book of Norse tales one of his nannies gave him before she left. He’d read that thing front to back at least 200 times before science took over full time.

 

“It’s _real_?” He rasped. 

 

“Of course.”

 

“And we’re _here_?”

 

“I just said we were.”

 

“ _Why_?”

 

“… I am not sure,” Loki admitted quietly. 

 

“Are you _kidding_ me?!” Tony hissed gesturing with his hand and accidentally tossing the sand with it. He ignored Loki’s raised brow and barreled on. “You’re hilarious—my sides are splitting, no, really, you’re a regular _comedian_. Now tell me why the fuck we are here and not on Earth before I throw up on you.”

 

Loki’s eyes narrowed and the god nearly disappeared from sight as the first clouds crossed over the two moons. Tony didn’t like his chances in the dark with a psychopath and attempted to move the clouds with shear willpower. Clearly, control over the weather was not one of his powers.

 

“Throw up on me and I shall leave you here, alone, and most certainly unwelcome to either race that dwells here.”

 

“You’re the one brought me here, asshole,” Tony kindly reminded him.

 

“I did _not_ intend to travel here,” Loki argued, hunching forward to stare Tony down. “I had intended to bring us to Alvheim, where I— _we_ may be safe for a while.”

 

“So, what, therewas some kind of interference with your spell? Was it a spell, even? And tell me, again: why was bringing me along to your supposedly safe, _off-world_ place was a good idea? ”

 

“I see no reason to explain the process to you, I doubt you could grasp even the _basics_ of magical theory,” Loki drawled, looking towards the tree-line with another tight-lipped expression. “I must admit, though, I did not expect such an extensive change to the geography in so few years.”

 

_Excuse me? I’m a fucking genius. Don’t tell me what I can’t grasp_ —

 

“Such change is never a good sign.”

 

Apparently, he wasn’t going to answer _any_ of his questions.

 

Tony followed his gaze, and kept his thoughts to himself, instead studying the foliage Loki seemed to dislike. He had no idea what he was supposed to be looking at and what had supposedly changed. This was an alien planet, for all he knew, up was down, the sky was red, and Loki was sane.

 

“Yeeaaah, right,” He said slowly. “Since you’re not going to tell me anything useful and I’m not exactly in a position to threaten the information out of you, let me ask some ‘boring’ questions like: I take it you haven’t been here in a while?”

 

“Not for quite some time,” Loki acknowledged with a shrug and a small hiss of pain. Tony shouldn’t smirk at his ‘mate’s’ suffering, he really shouldn’t.

 

 “This area was once only stone and small brush… I am unsure what has transpired to create all this new… vegetation.”

 

Tony frowned at the obviously healthy green stuff around them. “‘Not some time’ as in… before you pissed everyone off and attacked my planet?”

 

Loki’s head turned with a snap. “I did not—!”

 

“Piss everyone off? I think you _diiiiid_ ,” Tony interrupted in a sing-song voice. 

 

Loki went perfectly still. He was still glaring at him, but seriously, nothing was moving. Tony wasn’t even sure if the guy was breathing. It was a little unnerving, but Tony didn’t start to panic until the god started practically vibrating. 

 

_Wait wait wait. Is that magic?_

_He’s going to leave your ass here._

 

“Heyheyhey—wait! Wait a—Don’t you dare!” Tony yelped, scrambling forward and throwing himself at Loki will all his strength. The god fell back with a grunt, and proceed to shake even as Tony wrapped his arms around him, squeezed his eyes shut, and held on for dear life. 

 

He was _not_ about to get left behind.

 

“… eh heh heheheh…”

 

One eye opened slowly. Loki continued to shake. 

 

With laughter. 

 

_This fucker._

 

_Mate._

 

_Shut. Up._

 

“Oh i’m so glad you find this _funny_ ,” Tony groused, sitting up and purposely putting all of his weight on Loki’s stomach. “You _are_ an asshole, I don’t care what the stupid ass voice in my head says, you’re king of the assholes.”

 

_Need mate._

 

Uh huh, yeah, that voice. The one that can shut up because— _asshole_. 

 

“Ah… eheheh… Does the poor mortal have voices in his head? And your people say _I_ lack sanity,” Loki purred, apparently not deterred at all by Tony’s position on top of him. In fact, looking closer now, Tony could see an almost healthy blush to the god’s face. 

 

“Shut up, this is all your fault,” Tony grit out, thumping a fist on Loki’s chest rather pathetically. He had no strength after that… after SHIELD happened and his lame attempt at saving himself just now. At this point, he had no doubt in his mind that Loki could kill him with a single swat of his hand—no, maybe a finger. 

 

He was just tired. After trying to cover his ass for all these years, keeping secrets, and hurting himself over and over and _over_ again, everything was ruined in a single second. Because of a single asshole thinking it was funny to use his secret as a diversion for his escape. Oh yeah, he was _exhausted_ and more than a little _pissed._

 

_Don’t hurt mate._

 

And _that_ explained some of exhaustion. He had a feeling that he couldn’t actually beat the shit out of Loki for that stunt he pulled, even if he wanted to. The whole mate thing really messed with his head. So, without a gun, a stick, or a rock, he sat on the god as hard a she could. Below him, Loki shifted, staring up at Tony with a weird, little smile. Tony sat, stared back, and tried to ignore the voice. 

 

_Mine._

 

“… What did you do to me?”

 

_He’s mine._

 

_That’s more than a little awkward, considering where I am right now. Stop._

 

“I did nothing.”

 

“Then why is a very large—annoying—part of my brain telling me you're my _mate_?” Tony inquired, voice dropping to a whisper. 

 

Loki’s eyes widened and it looked like Tony might finally be getting some of those answers—and maybe he would have, if something didn’t scuttle around in the bushes a few feet away from them. 

 

Loki cleared his throat and sat up, pushing Tony off of him. “Now is neither the time nor the place. We should cross the borders into Alvheim, if we wish to be safe.”

 

“And if I _wish_ to go home?” Tony asked, standing up and pulling down the crappy hospital gown as far as it could go. For a second, Tony thought he caught the god staring at his legs out of the corner of his eye, but when he looked up, Loki was already walking away, disappearing into the dark. “Hey! Answer me, for fuck’s sake.”

 

Without stopping, Loki called out over his shoulder, “We will discuss our arrangements once we are safe.”

 

“Right, like anywhere is safe with you,” Tony mumbled to himself, and took off after him as fast as his exhausted body would allow.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Finding safe, easily traveled, and secret paths between realms was not one of Loki’s strengths. Finding secret paths with little-to-no care for safety or ease was more his style, but his current predicament left him weakened and partnered with a pathetic excuse of a living-creature.  

 

“Are we there yet?”

 

Loki ground his teeth together for the 10th time and ignored the mortal’s whining, again. He had remained silent for the first stretch of their journey through the woods, but had begun complaining about every hill, every sharp stone, every insect, every growl in the dark. And if it wasn’t bad enough, the man’s inner voice—as Stark, himself, called it—had begun complaining too. 

 

_Help. Help. help_

 

“Stark, _do_ shut up,” Loki snapped.

 

“Princess, _do_ pull that stick out of your ass and let me take a break.”

 

“Later, when we are safe.”

 

“Am I ever going to be safe here? Even relatively safe?”

 

“I won’t promise anything,” Loki sneered, glancing back at the stumbling figure behind him. The man didn't answer him, but the soft voice still reached Loki’s mind. 

 

_Please. Mate._

 

_Hurts._

 

Loki frowned, slowing to a stop quite a ways ahead of the mortal. As much as he was in heavy denial of this ‘mate’ nonsense—because it was _impossible_ and it only served to remind him exactly what he was (and what he wasn’t)—he could not help the weight that grew in his chest every time Stark called out to him. He was clearly in pain, limbs heavy with exhaustion and quite possibly dealing with the lingering effects of drugs from his recent captors. Loki’s brow drew together sharply as he ran his eyes over the man’s body. 

 

“You have no shoes.”

 

Stark slowed to a stop a few steps away and rolled his eyes. “Obviously. I was pulled right from the hospital bed _you_ put me in and locked up in some lab. When do you think I had time to stop and grab some sneakers?”

 

“You could have said something.”

 

“I did,” Stark growled, lifting one leg up to stretch, and then the other. “I asked you nicely—oh, about ten miles ago—to stop fucking walking.”

 

“You’re bleeding,” Loki observed, that weight growing heavier. 

 

“I think you are too,” the man replied with a wane smile. Loki looked down at himself, startled to find several smears of blood across his torso and limbs. It shone bright in the double moon-light, meaning several of his wounds from before had reopened. Fresh blood also meant a scent to track, and coupled with his unique magic signature, this was not good news for either of them. 

 

Loki turned away, saying, “We cannot stop—“ the man whimpered, “— and if you don’t wish to die here, be silent and keep up.”

 

“Yes sir,” the man muttered, going quiet as he continued to stumble on behind him.

 

_Hurts_ , the voice cried once more, and soon fell silent, too.

 

___________

 

“What do you _mean_ ‘Tony’s missing’?!”

 

“As I said, we have reason to believe—“

 

“Director Fury told me he was hurt, but stable. How on earth is he _missing_?!” The woman yelled, her voice reaching new pitches of hysteria. 

 

Bruce let out a groan and rubbed his head, willing the thundering headache to pass. It didn’t help that everyone was yelling about something, or making a fuss about security, or getting in his personal space. They were left with very few options when they escaped the SHEILD base, considering that they were now probably considered dangerous fugitives. Well, Bruce had already been on their watch list for years now, but both of the spies were undoubtably marked as traitors by now. That coupled with the fact that no one knew _what_ Tony Stark was, _where_ he was, and _why_ he was—probably—with Loki, the team was in a tight spot. 

 

“How did you even get into the tower?” the woman was asking, sounding much more calm now. Agent Romanoff had an odd way of soothing the unsoothable, not that Bruce would know. The Other Guy still growled every time the red-head even looked his way.

 

“JARVIS let us in with promises of safety,” the spy replied. “Not that there’s much left of the upper levels. Loki and his army did a lot of damage.”

 

“Of course he did,” the woman snapped, making Bruce smile to himself. This was definitely the woman for Tony Stark. He wondered, vaguely, if she knew about his wings. It was the kind of thing you needed support for, but never reached out to anyone about. Another thing Bruce knew all too well.

 

“I’m surprised you didn’t attempt to use your security clearance, Agent Romanoff. I trust you have a reason for needing Tony’s security?”

 

“We need access to JARVIS, as well,” Natasha said, giving her a surprisingly real smile. 

 

On screen, the woman waved a hand dismissively. “I assumed as much. Please let me know the second you find Tony, and… be careful. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s obviously nothing good.”

 

‘We’ll stay in touch, thanks Pepper.” 

 

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

 

Natasha nodded, and the connection closed.

 

A low whistle made Bruce jump and the Other Guy roar internally. 

 

“So that’s the infamous Miss Potts,” Clint commented, leaning against the doorframe.

 

“I’m impressed,” Rogers’ admitted from his seat across from Bruce. Even he was worn down, arms resting against his knees, smile weak and humorless. “But we can’t stay here for long. Fury will track us pretty easily, if he’s as good as I think he is.”

 

“He’s better than you think he is,” Clint said, earning himself an unhappy grunt from the captain. “It’s true, though. We don’t have a hell of a lot of time before SHIELD figures out where we were and brings us in for questioning. The special kind of questioning you get after breaking something of theirs.”

 

Bruce made a face.

 

“Trust me, they’re that petty.”

 

“Somehow, I believe it,” Bruce sighed, standing up and removing his glasses. The headache was not going anywhere, and neither was any of their problems. Tony might be safe, if his hunch about Loki was correct. So, for now, he was going to do the only thing he could do right now. “I’m going to sleep. You guys should probably rest, too.”

 

“I’ll find us some rooms close together. Don’t want any surprises,” Clint called out, already disappearing down the hallway. 

 

Natasha glanced over her shoulder at the remaining two and said, “I’m staying up for a while. I need to see what JARVIS has from SHIELD about Tony’s escape, and I want to see footage from when he flew through the carrier again.”

 

Bruce shuffled his feet, not willing to meet her eye. He knew it was coming, but he really did want some sleep.

 

“I can tell you what happened…”

 

“What do you mean?” the captain inquired sharply, all the sleepiness gone from his posture. 

 

Bruce sighed, again, and put his glasses back on. It was time for the interrogation. 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The borders of Alvheim opened up before them, and Loki had never been so glad, in all his long years, to see the dark greens of the elven forest. Ugly, squat palms gave way to Blue Bells, ferns, and rose bushes. Trees heavy with vines, were now tall, red oaks, filled with the more gentle creatures. Everything about the land breathed calm and safety. 

 

 

“Ah, now you see where I meant to take us. You cannot deny it is a much more welcoming place,” Loki proclaimed, turning around with a smile. His excitement was short lived, when his reluctant companion was not, as he assumed, behind him. In fact, there was no sign of him at all. 

 

“Stark?”

 

Loki waited for a reply, both vocal, or the unusual voice that had plagued him since they met. But there was nothing, and for Stark, silence was worrying. 

 

“Stark!?” he yelled, bolting back down the path he had hoped to never travel again. And there, quite a ways back, was Stark. Even in the dark, Loki could spot the hideous robe that covered his collapsed form. 

 

“Don’t you _dare_ , not after everything i’ve done for you, you stupid, weak—“ Loki’s voice cracked as he fell to his knees and turned the mortal over. He had done everything in his power to save him, for some damned reason. If he died now… No, He didn’t care. He _shouldn’t_ care. 

 

_You are the one who saved him, you fool._  

  
_If he’s really your mate… you can_ not _let him die._

 

“Stark…” 

 

Loki shook him none too gently, and pulled the man’s head onto his lap. Even through his leathers, he could feel the heat radiating off of Stark’s body. It was unnaturally high, if what Loki remember about mortal’s anatomy.

 

“Come now, we are so close to safety… if you truly are… if you are _meant_ to be mine, you will do as I say and get up!”

 

Neither voices replied to him, but the man’s breathing grew more shallow by the minute. 

 

Loki curled his fingers into his arms, and growled, “If you do not get up right now, I shall leave you here to be eaten. Do you hear me?”

  
_Don’t you dare die._

 

Nothing seemed to change, and Loki was out of luck. His magic was weak, his body was exhausted and as battle-worn as Stark’s, and they were trapped on the wrong side of the border in these new, unnatural woods. If only the idiotic man’s wings worked, they could simply fly over—

 

“Ah,” Loki purred, confidence warming him once again. “Ah, ah, ah. My strange mortal, you are not the only one with wings.” 

 

It would be the very last of his magic, he knew, which soon left him— _them_ at the mercy of the elves upon their arrival. But he had no more options, and speed was more important than defense right now. 

 

Taking a deep breath, Loki reached out and twisted the fabric between this realm and his own, smaller pocket dimension. He reached and reached until he felt feathers under his finger tips, and yanked the cape back into this realm. It fell heavily over their bodies, the rustle of feathers loud in the sudden silence around him. 

 

Loki cursed. Of course, he _knew_ his magic would draw the attention of those unwanted. He had very little time now, and still a lot to do.

 

“I could use some assistance, useless mortal,” Loki grumbled to himself, swinging the cloak around his shoulders without fastening the clasp. He had never attempted this before, and he wasn’t even sure it would _work_ , never mind the fact that the process would more than likely cause some physical damage to both of them.

 

_Crrrcckkkkk!_

 

And he no longer had the luxury of worrying about it. Gathering up Stark in his arms, Loki quickly pulled the cloak around both their bodies and flicked the clasp closed just as the thundering of feet broke the clearing. 

 

There was a roar, but it was already fading away as the cool, night air whipped around them. Behind them, two moons set and the first rays of light warmed his black feathers as every beat of his wings brought them closer to safety.

 

 


	10. Precious Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony wakes up to an irritating reality filled with snappish gods, aches and bruises, and oh yeah, a stupid whiny voice telling him he needs his mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I sort of messed with some mythology here. Freyr is not really an elf, but he does rule Alvheim. So, yeah.

 

 

 

Howard was staring at him from across the long dining table, and for once, his gaze was without the usual disgust or disappointment. There was a sort of softness around his eyes that Tony didn’t see very often, and never directed at him. Not for as long as he could remember, anyway. 

 

Maria was seated to Howard’s left, she,too, looking past the candles, the elegantly folded napkins, and the dozens of empty glasses placed between them. The entire table was set for a diner party, but none of them were dressed appropriately for it. In fact, Tony wasn’t wearing all that much at all. 

 

“I’m cold,” he said, and winced when he remembered that complaints were just another form of weakness. Howard was sure to remind him any second now. 

 

“You should wrap up, my Little Angel.”

 

_I’m not an angel, Howard with tell you._

 

“I don’t have anything to wrap up in.”

 

“Why are you wearing that? Howard asked, instead.

 

Tony looked down and frowned at his ‘clothing’. It was nothing but a scrub, like the ones he always wore when Howard removed his wings. Why _was_ he wearing it at the dinner table? 

 

“I have no idea,” he answered, noticing the robe draped loosely over his shoulders. “I think i’m sick.”

 

Maria smiled warmly at him, replying, “You aren’t sick, Angel.”

 

“I’m not an angel.”

 

“Of course you are,” Howard said, standing up and lifting his glass to him. Howard never lifted his glass to Tony, not even when he graduated from MIT, well ahead of his class. “Why else would you be here?”

 

“I don’t know why i’m here…” Tony croaked, looking desperately to Maria for answers. “I’m sick, mom.”

 

“You’re not sick, Little Angel.”

 

Howard said, “You’re dead,” and drank his wine.

 

_Oh, I guess I am an angel._

 

Tony wasn't that surprised when the room faded away into darkness, the clink of his father’s glass echoing across his mind. Obviously it was just a dream. 

 

Howard would never be that nice.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Loki knew the precise moment the mortal woke, thanks to the barrage of thoughts and complaints filling his mind in the same, weak voice he had listened so hard for before. The man’s eyes weren’t even open yet, and he was already ruining Loki’s peace. Why was he surprised?

 

_Hurts. Head hurts. No, brain hurts. Feet hurt. OW—no, don’t move._

_Need mate._

_Need mate.  
Need mate._

_Need—shut up!_

_Fuck, where am I? Too dark—wait, eyes aren’t open. Duh. Warm is nice. Wearing anything? Please, god, tell me i’ve got pants on this time. I—mate. Shut up, I want—mate—No, I was thinking about food and—MATE!_

 

“Shuuut uuuuup…”

 

Loki snorted, leaning over the mortal’s bed to say, “Yes, please do.”

 

“If I knew how, I would,” Stark grunted, slowly opening his eyes and instantly squeezing them shut again. “Ah—hell… super bright out. Don’t tell me this place has two suns, as well.”

 

“No, I’m afraid Alvheim only has one sun.”

 

“Alv—we made it?”

 

“Indeed we did, no thanks to you.”

 

“Excuse me?” The man growled, forcing his eyelids open just enough to squint up at him. His eyes were much clearer after a few days sleep and a lack of poisons running through his body. Loki would almost call them beautiful, if he was feeling generous. 

 

“You were no help at all in our escape,” Loki explained. “A ‘dead weight’, I believe it’s called. I was forced to carry you for miles.” 

 

“I was the one who told you I needed a break. If I had a break, I would have been fine.”

 

“If you simply used those feathered appendages of yours, we would have arrived here in better condition and much sooner.”

 

“I can’t use them,” he argued, eyes flickering around the room as he forced himself up into a sitting position. He frowned down at the bedding for a moment, before glancing back up at Loki with a curious frown. “How _did_ we get here, anyway? I seriously doubt a bean-pole like you carried me all the way here.”

 

 

Loki tucked away that information for later questioning, when he managed to get the mortal to warm up to him. He would get his answers before he left for another realm, and this time, Stark was _not_ coming along. 

 

“Not that I would have any trouble carrying you by land, but I flew, actually. You should be thankful I still carry my cloak with me after all this time.”

 

“You _fly_? Since when?”

 

“I have for many years,” Loki replied with a shrug, leaning back in his chair. “The cloak once belonged to Freyja, that malicious _witch_ , and I—ah— _borrowed_ it some time ago. She got a bit nasty, called me a perverted liar who suffers from insanity. Well, I just _had_ to keep the thing after that.”

 

“I don’t know about ‘perverted’—unless some of the stories those Norse dudes wrote about you are true—but i’ll agree with her on the other two.”

 

“You do _not_ know me!” Loki snarled as he stood, fingers curling, magic bleeding through his veins. Oh—how he wanted to strike him down. At least once.

 

This mortal has known him for mere days and yet he presumes to understand him? 

 

To say he was ‘mad’ when he had _no_ understanding of what Loki has suffered through, how he tried and tried to be just like everyone else, and yet, still, they called him insane. They pushed him into corner after corner, mocking his lack of one skill and loathing his abundance of another. And after all that? Did Thor ever understand, even as he screamed in dismay at Loki’s fall? No, not even then.

 

To have already lost so much, to be filled with holes where love and support and truth should be. No one knew what happened when the shadows of the void crawled into him and fill his mind with darkness. No one understood how the black filled those holes and made him complete again. Complete, with eyes wide open to the injustices he’s suffered all this time. 

 

Was he mad? Perhaps a little. But who _drove_ him there?

 

Loki let out a breath, magic flickering angrily between his fingers as he glowered down at the mortal who made light of him so easily. It would have been much more pleasing if Stark quivered in fear or shrank back as Loki towered over him, but he did not. He simply stared up at him in stunned silence, and it was a long moment before he spoke again.

 

“I guess I don’t get you at all… Considering you saved my life after trying to kill me, like, only a day before. You’re kind of a walking contradiction, aren’t you?”

 

Loki rolled his shoulders in a quick shrug, wanting this conversation to end, now. This was not going in the direction he needed, if he were to gain any more information about this ‘mate’ nonsense, and the odd ache in his chest whenever the situation grew more dire for Stark. It wasn’t right that this pathetic creature knew more about it than he did, and Loki did not appreciate having any bond formed between him and another without his permission or knowledge. 

 

He would have to change his tactics, then, to hide his anger and disgust for a little while longer. Loki could be kind—he had played Thor well enough to know what foolish, _happy_ people wanted to hear and see. He knew exactly how to play the part and wheedle his way into that tiny mind.

 

“So, you’re eyes are different,” Stark commented out of the blue. “Does that mean anything or does that come with the whole Aesir thing?”

 

_Another unfavorable subject, wonderful. Just keep the anger at bay._

 

 

“And your eyes are different now than they were with your wings hidden. Does that come with the whole… what manner of creature _are_ you, again?” Loki sneered in response. 

 

 

Stark jerked back as if burned, and instantly cast his eyes away from him, a rueful smile forming on his lips rather than an answer. The ache returned, more acute than ever and spreading through his chest like ice. Loki did not like that feeling one bit, for it reminded him too strongly of the cold crawling over his body when he touched the casket. It was far too similar to be a coincidence. 

 

“Stay here and rest,” Loki commanded, moving away from the bed quickly. He needed to get away from Stark before his emotions interfered with his plan. The library was a good place to regain his calm and start gathering information.

 

“Wait!” Stark called out. “Wait… aren’t you going to explain some of this to me? You brought me here out of fucking no where, with no answers, and a less-than-delightful attitude.”

 

“And you were the one who claims that I am your mate and whimpered in my ear for near a day about it without explanation,” Loki replied over his shoulder. “Perhaps you will be willing to trade information when I return.”

 

“You owe me—“

 

“I owe you _nothing_ , yet I will offer you truth,” Loki interrupted, opening the door and adding before it closed. “In return for truth. Now rest.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The first thing Tony did was throw one of his many pillows at the door with all his strength. Which, incidentally, wasn’t all that much in the end. In fact, the pillow flopped only a foot from the bed with a pathetic ‘WHOOMPH!’, leaving Tony feeling unfulfilled and irritated. 

 

“‘Truth for truth’ my Hot Rod Red ass!” he yelled at the door, pulling another pillow out of the pile to wrap his arms around. He hoped to hell Loki was actually gone, because he wasn’t winning any arguments with that lame come back. 

 

_Mate_ , the voice purred, sounding way too content for Tony’s liking. 

 

The _second_ thing he was going to do was shut this shit down. No more interruptions, no more pining for the fjords, no more losing his mind and flying off to get near Loki in the middle of a damn war zone. No more of it. Tony needed control, that was his thing. His suit was control, his tower, control, JARVIS, control. You got the idea. 

 

“Alright Whiny Voice, you and me are gonna have a talk,” he hissed, secretly hoping, again, that no one was lurking outside of the door. He didn’t even know where he was right now, or who would be there. He’d worry about that later.

 

His stomach growled. 

 

Okay, maybe soonish. But first: 

 

If Loki is his mate _—MATE!—_

 

“Jesusfuckingchrist—would you shut up for two seconds!?”

 

…

 

“Thank you.”

 

Now, if Loki was his mate—which made no sense, but he had to start somewhere—that meant they had to have some kind of previous connection. 

 

_No… Need mate._

 

_Okaaay, so maybe we don’t have a connection yet?_

 

Then why did it have to be Loki, and what the hell does it have to do with his wings? Unless it didn’t have anything to do with them—but no, that’s unlikely because no one _normal_ has a voice telling him about their mate.

 

“No one _normal_ has wings, Tony,” he groused, clutching the pillow tighter. 

 

He really needed to talk to someone else about this, someone who could find out and not look at him like a freak. He really needed Rhodey right now. Rhodey would sit him down and go over it fact by fact. He might laugh—a little—at first, but once he saw the wings and actually listened to what Tony was saying, he’d take it seriously. He’d help him, like he always did. 

 

Tony should have told him years ago. And now, he couldn’t. 

 

_You are_ not _going to cry, god dammit._

 

_Mate. Find mate._

 

This was clearly not working. 

 

“Look, can you answer me or are you, like, some part of me? Do you only know what I know? What _are_ you?” 

 

_Mate feels good._

 

“Right, no, Loki does _not_ feel good. Loki throws his _mate_ out windows and tries to kill all his mate’s fr-friends…” 

 

_Hurt._  

 

Tony smiled ruefully and shuffled his wings. The Whiny Voice was spot on with that one. 

 

Tony cleared his throat and spoke, “Right, not thinking about the good ol’ team right now. Can we come to some sort of understanding? Because me tweaking out over Loki in the middle of who-knows-where with no suit and no rock, stick, or gun is not ideal. Ideal is home with a suit and about 30 drinks, but i’m sure we can come up with some kind of compromise here. You shut up and I… uh… find out more about this supposed mate of mine. Deal?”

 

_Bond with mate._

_Feel good._

 

“Yeah, yeah, sure. I’ll ‘bond’ with him over drinks. Do we have a deal, though? You be quiet, I ‘find mate’?”

 

_No more hurt._

 

“No promises. This is me we’re talking about.”

 

_Bond?_

 

Tony gritted his teeth, kicking his feet in frustration and god was he tempted— _oh so tempted_ —to start throwing pillows again. This thing just would. Not. Shut. Up.

 

_Compromise, Tony, you need to compromise._

 

“Alright,” he breathed, letting go of the pillow and swinging his feet to the side of the bed. “Okay, if I ‘bond’ with him, will you go away? Forever?”

 

_Yes._

 

Well _that_ was creepy. That was probably the most straightforward answer Tony’s gotten from this thing since it first began whispering in his ear. 

 

“We have a deal then. Now shut up and let me think straight until I need you again. Got it?”

 

Tony waited for a response, his wings slowly stretching out from where they had been tucked firmly against his back. Each movement made them creak and the further Tony spread them, the less he wanted to pull them back in. It struck him that this was the longest he’d had his wings out in years. No wonder they felt so stiff being pressed against his back like that. 

 

When Whiny Voice didn’t respond, Tony stood up and took a few shaky steps. It wasn’t so bad with his wings out for balance, and he seemed to be wearing a toga-like thing, so that was an improvement. Half of him wanted to find something sharp and cut his wings off as soon as possible, but the other half reminded him that this was an entirely different world right now, and who said he couldn’t have his wings here? Loki hadn’t said anything about them, after all.

 

“That’s it, i’m going to explore the land of the elves,” Tony proclaimed, and marched out of the room, wings out and head held high. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The library was soothing, Loki found, and bursting with information. Since he was technically visiting as a so-called ‘fugitive’, he kept himself glamoured as he moved through row after row of tomes stacked to the ceiling. Even if he was there officially, there was no way he would question one of the scholars about mates. No one, even the reclusive members of the elven librarians could keep a secret. Gossip would reach the ears of their king in no time at all, and soon after, Odin would undoubtably hear his name on someone’s lips.

 

_If i’m lucky, Heimdall will be too busy looking to Thor and his Midgard to look this way._

 

 

He knew his way around the library well enough to locate the right section within minutes. He had spent quite some time here as a boy, and later, as a young man. All the while, Thor would run off and drool over armors and elfish maidens. 

 

“Disgusting,” Loki murmured to himself, pulling out the smaller of the three books under the same category. He grimaced at the image tooled into the leather cover, knowing all too well how painful this was going to be. He recognized that tall, blue figure as easily as own reflection.

 

 

To find his answers, he would have to learn more about the Frost Giants. This was going to be unpleasant. 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Tony’s stomach was getting embarrassingly loud as he worked his way downward floor by floor. He had hoped—based on his loose knowledge of medieval castles—that down meant kitchen and kitchen meant food. Several times already, he was met by guards who gave him warning looks whenever he stepped too close to one door or another. Other than that, everyone left him alone. 

 

And no one looked twice at his wings. 

 

Tony was ready to burst into song any minute now.

 

“How curious,” A soft voice came from near by. 

 

Tony skidded on the shiny floor, nearly performing a split before he caught himself with a single beat of his wings. Once he was sure he wasn’t about to fall on his face, Tony slowly turned around and plastered his politest smile across his face. 

 

“What is?” he asked smoothly, still not sure where the invisible person was. Gee, were there enough pillars in here to hide behind?

 

“To see a Nymph in Alvheim.”

 

Tony narrowed his eyes are a particularly dark shadow to his left. “A Nymph?” 

 

“Do you deny that which you are? Is that why your wings are hidden behind such a power glamour?” the voice inquired, followed a moment later by a tall, white haired man. Her was beautiful, in the sort of Greek Perfection sense, and wearing long, baby-blue robes that dragged across the floor behind him. Tony found himself wondering how the hell this guy didn’t trip and fall on _his_ ass. 

 

“Uh… I don’t think i’m a Nymph,” he began, his smile fading a little. Firstly, _what_ glamour? And secondly, there was something about this guy that was actually managing to intimidate him a little. He wasn’t wearing dark leathers, like Loki, or spikes or fire or anything that screamed evil. But the air around him breathed of old, snobby, and unhappy. 

 

“Your wings bare similar markings as their last king,” The elf remarked, stepping closer and disappearing behind Tony as he began to circle him. He shivered as fingers ghosted over his wings, adding to his discomfort tenfold.

 

“The last king of here?” he managed, trying to ignore the closeness of the stranger. “Elves have wings, too?” 

 

“Not Alvheim, no. The Nymph kingdom was small when it was at its largest, and now long lost to the ages.” The man stopped right in front of Tony, eyes leaving his wings and finally meeting his own. They were gray, so light they almost looked white. It was just one more thing to make the guy unnerving. 

 

“Hence,” he continued, “Why you are such a curiosity.” 

 

“B-but i’m not a nymph… I don’t think.”

 

“What are you, then?”

 

“Sort of human?”

 

The elf barked out a very un-elf-like laugh and leaned back, looking him over from head to toe. 

 

“You, a mortal? Surely not. I have seen my fair share of those of Midgard, and your likeness is closer to that of a dwarf, or, as I said, a nymph.”

 

 

Tony grumbled, “Hey, stature is not a part of it and besides, humans have things like Mutants now. There’s a lot of weird stuff going around.”

 

“Ah,” he sighed, leaning in close enough. “So you are of this Mutant race, then?”

 

Tony glanced away, another shiver crawling up his back. “No…”

 

“And how do you know?”

 

“I tested myself a few times. No Mutant DNA, as far as I can tell.” 

 

Tony kept his eyes on the floor now. Something about this was really rubbing him the wrong way, and that stupid voice was staying quiet, of course. Of all the times he needed it to call out to Loki, now would be one of them. Like, _right_ now. 

 

“I see,” the elf hummed, face now only inches away from him. Tony could actually feel his breath against his cheek. 

 

“Who are you?” Tony mumbled, forcing himself to meet those creepy eyes. 

 

“I am Freyr, brother of Freyja.” His lips twitched into a nasty smile. “And I know who it is you travel with.”

 

_Freyja_. Where had he heard that name before? It wasn't that ‘malicious witch _’_ Loki borrowed the cloak from, was it?

 

Yeah, it totally probably was. Go-fucking-figure.

 

“Oh,” Tony breathed, taking a step back. 

 

Freyr’s smile grew toothy and sharp. 

 

“He has stolen from my sister, and slandered both our names,” he growled, grabbing Tony’s wrists firmly. “I believe it is high time he pays us back with something as equally precious.”

 

“Wh-what?” Tony squeaked, trying to pull away. “I’m not precious to him! I’m not, he doesn’t even like me. In fact, i’m more than sure he hates me and plans to leave me in a ditch somewhere to rot, so, you know, not precious. Not at all.”

 

“The last Nymph in the Nine Realms? Oh, you foolish thing. You are worth more than all of Asgard’s riches.”

 

“I’m. Not. A. Nymph,” Tony wheezed, spreading his wings and pulling back as hard as could. Freyr’s grip became bruising, and Tony made the mistake of looking him in the eye again. 

 

Everything began to swim and shimmer. 

 

Now would be a _really_ good time for that voice to start fucking screaming for Loki’s attention again. Time to call for his mate, jesus, he needed his _mate_. 

He needed…

 

 

_LOKI!_

 

Freyr was saying something, but it was getting too hard to focus and Tony’s knees might have given out at some point there. It was growing dark, again, and he really wished it was just another dream. But no one was being very nice to him, this time, so it was probably wasn’t.

 

_Loki…_

 

Just before he blacked out, he thought he heard someone call his name in return. 

 

 


	11. Requiem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony needs saving. 
> 
> Actually, he doesn't, thank you very much.

 

 

It was with a sick fascination that Loki perused his collection of books on Jotunheim and its… ‘people’. Much of the text was littered with inaccuracies, and the rest was clearly product of distant observations and ignorant presumptions. No one, not even the Dark Elves, seemed to want to go near enough to actually study the Frost Giants. Not that Loki could claim any better. He had spent most of his life believing in this foolish dribble, trusting the stories of heartless demons, of a primitive nation of ‘creatures’. He had wanted to fight the brutes with Thor, for glory, for peace, for pleasure. 

 

Now—oh but now, he wanted to destroy them for his _own_ reasons. He wanted to see them gone, and never again be forced to watch that hateful color crawl up his skin, and cool his heart. He would be the last of the Frost Giants, and no one would know. 

 

No one would mourn, either. 

 

“Ugly things,” he muttered under his breath, pausing to sneer at an illustration of a dissection. They were as ugly as he felt inside, which was disgustingly poetic, really.All this research was doing was bringing bile to his throat, and kindling his hatred for them. Nothing significant about bonding, or mating, or a Jotun beholden to anything. Not one of these scholars knew, or seemed to care, and that left him exactly where he started. 

 

Absolutely no where. 

 

Which was where he was when the first wave of dread crawled up his spine and into his skull. He, of course, shrugged it off like he had been since Stark first began creeping his way into Loki’s mind and _whining_ at him. He didn’t want to hear it, and for a single, blessed hour, he had been free of the noise. And such a relief it was that he didn’t stop to consider why there was a silence until the silence was broken in a sudden burst of fear and—

 

_LOKI!_  

 

All of the mortal’s whining, all the pain, all the cries for help over and over again, and nothing got him moving so quickly as that single screech.   
  
That was Stark, terrified beyond measure, desperate, and why was Loki not _there_ yet? Why why why why—his brain was screaming. The books scattered to the floor—useless—he was going to be too late, he can’t—he needed—he screamed something. Wordless.

 

And arrived to an empty hall, filled with silence, the stench of unbridled fear, and a name on his lips. 

 

“Freyr…”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Whatever one might say about elven fabric—and he was basing all expectations on Lord of the Rings—it was actually kind of scratchy against your skin. Well, at least until it got wet, and dragged him down into the water like a rock. His light, toga-thing, that had started out a nice cream color and soon turned pink—then red—was now a 300 ton, sagging ball of fabric trying to kill him. Maybe Loki wasn’t completely bullshitting it up when he kept calling mortals weak, gods strong. Elves also strong. Very strong. 

 

And assholes, they were that too. 

 

 

Stupidly, he asked, “Why… are you—doing this?” while trying to keep his head above water and simultaneously rip the stupid toga-thing off of his body.There was water in his mouth, already getting down his throat, and he was _not_ panicking. He would not have flashbacks. He would not. Fucking. Panic. 

 

Freyr, being the strong, asshole elf that he was, peered down from the top of the well, and let out a sort of whinnying sound that was either one ugly laugh, or he was literally part horse.

 

“I have an interest in gathering curiosities,” he drawled, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “One might call me a collector.” 

 

“S-strange way to—collect.” 

 

“I don’t need you alive to study you, nymph, I can just as easily have you preserved.”What a nice thought that was. Tony could hear the smirk in his stupid voice as he continued, “Besides, I’m much more interested in the effects of your death, than you, yourself.” 

  
What? Just, what? 

 

That was too cryptic for his panic-buzzing brain to handle, so he stopped asking questions and continued to claw at the fabric until he peeled away every last, sodden inch of it. This left him bare, and bleeding into the dark water that surrounded him for about five feet on every side.He wasn’t even sure what was bleeding, since everything hurt. But, at least he hadn’t hit his head on the way down, just managed to smash everything else, apparently.

 

 Oh, and the funny thing about having wings, though, is that they, too, don’t hold up well in water. Every attempt made to fly up and out of the pit was aborted before he could even get a good grip on a stone, or shake enough water from his feathers to get a big ol’ flap going. 

  
It didn’t help that Tony’s total time spent flying was pretty much ten minutes in all, and he had been very drunk and very depressed at the time, or high off of something and being shot at. There was also the fun fact that after Freyr’s little taunting speech, that really explained nothing at all, the bastard closed the top off with some bars and wandered off to be an asshole somewhere else. So, he was stuck in a well, even if he did fly up there.  
  
_Holy shit, i’m_ actually _stuck in a well._

 

_Holy shit, Lassie. I have to call for Lassie._

 

_Loki would have no idea what i’m talking about._

 

Fuck, not even pop culture references could cheer him up at a time like this, because his one and only ‘companion’ was a crazy god from space who wouldn’t get his jokes, and wasn’t that depressing? Plus, there was the little problem of his arrangement with the whiny Mate Voice, and the fact that it didn’t seem to be calling for Loki like it _should_ be, because he was in trouble, and he needed some fucking help _, thank you very much._

 

 

Tony paddled over to the edge of his watery prison, and ran his hands over the walls, looking for anything he could hold on to. He was getting worn out, and he’d only been in here for a few minutes at the most. It didn’t help that he had one of those terrible thoughts lurking in the back of his mind that wasn’t the Mate Voice, but rather his voice of reason.

 

 It was saying, quite clearly, ‘ _You’re going to die down here_.’ 

 

And for a good measure, ‘ _No one will care_.’ 

 

Tony thanked his voice of reason, and went on scrabbling at the slimy rocks to find any kind of purchase, any nob, nook, cranny, stick, gun— _something_ to help him keep him from sinking without constantly treading water. Because bleeding was probably worse than he originally thought, if the dizzy gross feeling in his head was anything to go by.

 

And he was just so _exhausted_. They had trekked across some weird, alien jungle for hours, he’d been tested on, cut up, and drugged before that, and now some elf king decided to throw him in a well. For no reason at all. 

 

_Please—come on—help me. Of all the times you decided to shut up, it’s now?_

 

Tony sagged against the wall, eyes fluttering closed as he sank further into the water. He needed… he needed help. 

 

He needed Loki. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wait a single, fucking minute… 

 

Tony snapped his eyes open and glared at the stone in front of him. Okay, so he wasn’t super strong like these alien-elf-god people, and maybe he didn’t have magic, or have any idea where he was, or even know how to to fly very well. But when, seriously _when_ had he ever needed to be rescued like some kind of damsel in distress? He broke out of that cave—and sure he had some serious help doing that—but he had planned, and worked, and fought his way free. He always fought, that was kind of his thing. 

 

That was Iron Man. 

 

He was still Iron Man. 

 

His lungs made a lovely wheezing noise as he took a deep breath, and dove under the water, letting his wings drag him down, down, down to the bottom. There had to be a bottom, oh shit, what if there wasn’t a—ah, _there_ it was. 

 

Tony twisted, getting his feet under him, his wings spread as far as he could in such a cramped space, and he _pushed_. 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Freyr loved waiting, which was undoubtably an odd thing to enjoy. But he _did_ love it, the silence after a well thought-out move, patiently waiting for your opponent to realize how ruined they were about to be, the warm excitement crawling in your bones to see what they would do next. And what _would_ Loki do? 

 

Poor abandoned Jotun child, the hopeless war trophy with no throne, no lands to call his own. All those nasty little secrets locked up in that maze of a brain, and Freyr wanted ever so much to dissect him. That, and get his sister’s cloak back. 

 

Which would be, in the end, more of a symbolic gesture, after the slander Loki spread about her. He could never actually reclaim her honor again, because she had long since abandoned that, along with her sanity. But to get his hands on those lovely, black feathers again, to hand it to his sister, still warm from Loki’s dying body—oh, he could just see the flickers of life in her eyes once again. To see Freyja laugh once more… he would do anything.   
  
Including killing the last of the nymphs. 

 

The problem with the silence after a well thought-out move, was that a certain amount of confidence tended to leave one a bit deaf to anything that was not a part of his careful planning. So, while he sat in his nonchalant pose, his book upon his knee, throne room empty—for effect, the last thing he expected was anything except Loki bursting in to demand his nymph be freed. 

 

“Hey, Elf Quest.” 

 

Startled, Freyr turned to see—black. 

 

Pain blossomed across his face, and _there_ , again, black, pain, and nothingness.  

 

Tony dropped the candelabra next to the elf king, taking a moment to admire the way his white hair turned pink—then red, and gave him a little extra kick. Just because. 

 

“Yeah, Timmy’s not in the well anymore, asshole.” 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Loki burst through the throne-room doors, lacking his usual grace and reserve, and panting as though he had run for miles. Which he had, as it were, since Freyr was fond of creating mazes out of his corridors like an idiot child with far too much power at the tips of his fingers. 

 

“Freyr, where is—!?” 

 

“Freyr is busy, can I take a message?”  

 

Loki skidded to a stop, and stared. He needed… a moment to take it in. 

 

Because sitting there—on the _throne—_ was Tony Stark, naked as the day he was borne, bloody, dripping wet, and grinning. At his feet, was the crumpled figure of what he had to assume was Freyr, clearly bleeding from several head wounds, and looking all together pathetic and possibly dead. 

 

“Did you… did you kill him?”

 

Stark looked down at the elf and titled his head to one side, replying, “You know, I’m not sure. I had to hit him again a few times, since you took forever to get here.” 

 

“I thought you had been kidnapped… harmed.” 

 

Stark looked up with a look that plainly read, ‘Take a good look at me and tell me that it isn’t true.’ 

 

Loki swallowed the snarl that threaten to crawl out of his throat at his impudence, and strode across the hall to take a look at Freyr himself. The elf had seen better days, clearly, but he did seem to still draw breath. Perhaps that was a small mercy, since causing the death of the king of Alvheim would not be a good addition to his list of problems right now. 

 

“You just… hit him?” Loki mused, nudging Freyr with a foot. 

 

“He ran into my candle holder,” Stark sang, for some strange reason. “He ran into my candle holder ten times.” 

 

Loki peered at the mortal—no, perhaps not a mortal, exactly—and wondered what madness he suffered that made him babble nonsense every time he opened his mouth. 

 

“Forget it, Lassie, I see the references flying over your head and it makes me sad,” The man sighed and stopped lounging back on the throne to sit forward with a wince. This, unfortunately, drew Loki’s attention back to his nakedness, and thus, the wounds and bruises showering his body. 

 

“Did I not _just_ heal you?” he snapped, gesturing to the abused body before him. 

 

“Didn’t you just get here too late to do _anything_ , and then start complaining about me getting hurt when I was fucking kidnapped and thrown down a well?”

 

“If you had stayed in your room like I—“ Stark smacked his hands against the throne and shoved his face right into Loki’s personal space. 

 

“Like you ‘ _said_ ’?” he snarled, too close for comfort. The smell of stagnant water and blood was filling Loki’s nose, making him choke. “All you did was tell me to ‘rest’. You didn’t tell me where we actually were, you didn’t explain anything—like, ‘Oh yeah, Tony, I _might_ have pissed off the guy who’s castle _we are currently squatting in_!’” 

 

Loki wrinkled his nose, and mumbled, “I have not _squatted_ anywhere in—“ 

 

But that seemed to be the final straw for the man, and before Loki could finish, Stark swung another kick into Freyr’s face, and stalked off to find a door leading out of the room. 

 

Loki cursed under his breath, and took off after him, shouting, “Stark! Do no go wandering off through one of these doors!” 

 

“And why not?!” 

 

“There are mazes—would you simply— _stop_!” 

 

Surprisingly, he did stop, and turn, and level Loki with a glare that would freeze a lesser man. Loki had been subject to much nastier looks, and approached him with no reservations whatsoever. As he drew close, however, he noticed the man was shivering, and the fire burning in his eyes just moments ago seemed to be fading. 

 

So, Loki paused, and considered his options. He had failed, thus far, to gain any information on bonds from his side. Never enough information on the Frost Giants, not enough time to look into what this man might be. His previous attempts at ‘playing nice’ had failed miserably, mostly due to the fact that Stark was officially one of the most annoying creatures Loki has yet to meet. Also because Loki was… afraid. He was afraid what he might find when he did delve into this bond, when he did find out what Stark really was. If it was like the bonds of mages, Stark’s untimely death could mean Loki’s own demise. Some lesser bonds leave you half a man, as though a large part of your soul was ripped from your body when they were torn from your life. No matter what sort of connection it was, there were always negative consequences to those bound together.  

 

So, yes, Loki feared what he already knew. A half life, a death, either way, Stark would take something irreplaceable from him, should he die from something as stupid as being pushed down a well. 

 

Which meant his ‘playing nice’ may need to become ‘actually being somewhat nice’. As much as could could bare to be, anyway. Because if they were truly ‘mates’, as Stark’s inner voice cooed, then Loki was stuck with this fragile, winged thing until he could figure out how to sever their connection. Which meant protecting him at all times. 

 

Clearly, the Fates hated him as much as he hated them. 

 

“Come, I think it’s time we made a hasty departure,” Loki said, pulling a familiar, feathered cloak from no where, and sweeping it over his shoulders. 

 

“Uh, how?” Stark asked, eyeing the cloak with a look of distaste. “And in case you haven’t noticed—which I know you did because I saw you eye-fuck me when you came in—i’m butt naked, and as much as I enjoy that in the comfort of my own home, this is _not_ my own home, and i’m cold, and wet, and fucking _tired_.” 

 

“I will remedy that after we leave,” Loki insisted, opening his arms to pull the man against his chest. He had no qualms with having Stark’s nude body pressed against his own, just as he had no real thoughts after seeing him perched upon the throne other than to note the wounds scattering his small frame. He was, though, as hot to the touch as every other time they made contact, and Loki wondered why the man complained of cold, when he nearly burned to the touch. 

 

Stark shifted in his arms, and mumbled into Loki’s chest, “I don’t know if I should be insulted that you didn’t comment on my butt-nakedness, or be happy that I don’t attract tall, dark-haired mass murderers like you.”  

 

Loki continued to refuse to comment on his ‘butt-nakedness’, pulled the cloak around them, and flicked the clasp closed. Just before his mind bled into the simple, calculative thoughts of a raven, Loki wondered if he should be insulted that Stark didn’t seem to care which one it was. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of repetitive imagery going on here. The well/pit/moon/circle of light thing keeps coming back. huh.
> 
> Anyway, not beta'd, as usual. [And I need to go back and make fix some previous mistakes, still.]


	12. Hungry Daydreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lull in their adventure, with a lazy nap in the sun and dark musings of a unamused god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and un-edited, sorry!

 

   Time seemed to pass at varying speeds of annoying-as-fuck, and Tony was, in general, unhappy. It’s not like it was the first time in his life that this has happened, he’s obviously been through some shit that he can firmly say made him unhappy, but there’s this small part of him that still holds on to the idea that he _deserves_ to be happy. Stupid, probably, but it’s there, nagging away at the back of his mind like it will do him any good. Him thinking he deserves to be happy wasn’t going to change the situation any time soon. Because every time Loki seemed bearable—and that wasn’t often—he did something so asshole-ish that Tony seriously considered just walking off into the wild to take a chance with the jungle beasts. Not that they were anywhere near the jungle anymore. Probably. He had no idea where they were in relation to their original landing point, which was just another part of his unhappy bubble. He’d like to go home now, please and thank you. Well, home to… somewhere safe and familiar. Preferably with all his suits, since he was kind of in danger from a major ninja organization back ‘home’. 

 

But this was the fourth city they’ve been to in three days, and the only two things Tony can say with confidence were this: 

 

One: He really, really missed his jet. This raven stuff was exhausting. 

 

Two: The nicest thing Loki can manage to do is to find him some clothes. 

 

But even that’s a mistake, because in Loki’s eyes, Tony’s just a winged pet, and winged pets don’t need, you know, _real_ clothes. Winged pets are fine with rags and a stinky old blanket with suspicious stains on it, regardless of all his protests. On top of that, Tony was constantly being tucked away in some dark corner, alley way, back room, tarp, fishing shack, even a fucking barrel once. It was getting on his last nerve. His last, _last_ nerve. 

 

“You never take me anywhere nice,” He grumbled, his wings shuddering in their wraps as he stretched out on his belly. At least this time he got a carpet to lay on, while a certain god took the ratty old bed. 

 

“If you wanted _nice_ , you should have stayed where you were being tortured,” Loki replied, his face once again hidden behind a book. Every city they’ve visited so far, there was another book to read. 

 

“Why did you drag me out of there if you were just going to torture me yourself?”

 

“If you really have to ask, you’re not quite as clever as Midgard made you out to be.” 

 

“If you really went through all that trouble just to hurt me on some other planet, _you’re_ not as clever as you make yourself out to be,” Tony sneered back, finally earning himself a short scowl over the book. 

 

“Stark,” the god sighed, “I’m not torturing you. Now be silent, this is important.” 

 

Tony fell silent for about 50 seconds before he piped up again, “So, there’s this thing where humans need to eat? I’m pretty sure you know about it, because you claim to be this super smart god and all that, and I know you’ve done your research on Earth and all that, so that’s kind of a major thing to miss about humans—“ 

 

Loki interrupted him by snapping his book closed. “I _just_ fed you!” 

 

“An apple,” Tony reminded him. “Yesterday morning. Not even a very good apple.” 

 

“I heard no complaints.” 

 

“Because the last time you fed me was two cities ago, and I was starving.” 

 

Loki shrugged, but glanced away with a strange expression. It seemed to take him a great effort to sit there and think about feeding his pet, which just pissed Tony off more. Because, come on, it’s not that hard. If he’d just let him go out himself to get things, he’s sure he could figure out the monetary system quickly enough. He’s always been good with money, which should be obvious to anyone who’s, let’s say, read his file? 

 

“I could just go to the market and—“ 

 

Loki’s head whipped around. “No.” 

 

“Why the fuck not!?” Tony snapped, his wings twitching behind him in irritation. That itching feeling was back, too, and he’d yet found a way to fix his unease. He needed… something. It’s too bad the whiny voice in the back of his head has been silent for days, now would be a great time for some direction. 

 

“Because I said so,” Loki replied, and oh no, no. They were not doing the ‘parent answer.’

 

Tony stood, his wings ripping through the already ragged bandages wrapped around them as they spread out behind him. There was rage boiling inside him now, so much so that he was trembling with it. 

 

“You will give me a straight fucking answer _right this fucking second_ ,” he began, advancing towards Loki with full intent to do as much damage as possible before Loki magically killed his ass. “You will give me _any_ answer, to any of my god damn questions. Right. This. Fucking. Second.” 

 

For once, Loki actually looked a little worried. Which wads as good as terrified in Tony’s books, considering that Loki was all-powerful and Tony basically had his fists as weapons right now and that’s really not a lot, in comparison. He was going to—if Loki didn’t answer, like always—Tony was going to _do_ things…

 

_Maaatteeee._

 

Oh for—of course it was back _now_. 

 

“Oh Norns…” Loki sighed loudly, all the tension bleeding out of the room in a single moment. Tony let his hands drop to his sides, and tilted his head back with a groan. 

 

“Perfect, just what I needed, Whiny Voice has returned to stop me from beating your face in.” 

 

Loki scoffed, “You would not get so far, Stark.” 

 

_Miiine…. neeed._

“Shut up,” he said to both of them, and shuffled back over to his corner on the floor, wings tucking themselves away again with the challenge gone. His stomach growled, and he shot Loki another glare that left the god as unfazed as ever. In face, Loki was picking up his book again—the bastard—and the stupid Whiny Voice inside him grew small and hurt as Tony fell into silence again. 

 

_Neeeeeeeed_ ….

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Loki ignored the small whimperings in the back of his mind from the Stark creature, and forced his eyes to remain on the pages before him. It was no jest when he said this was important, he was gaining information on mates and what Stark had repeated from Freyr. The last Nymph? Could it be true? Perhaps the answer would be in this book, as it wasn’t in the last ten or eleven he’s found during their short journey. 

 

His ears caught the soft rustle of wings as Stark shifted on the carpet and started to doze off again in the sunlight. The man had finally stopped complaining just around the same time as that inner voice of his pipped up and whined at them both. It appeared he had little to no control over it, and Loki was feeling generous enough not to snap at him to shut it up. There was a small—a very small seed of guilt over his complaints, as they weren’t entirely… unjustified. If they were mates, indeed, he was expected to behave responsibly, and kindly towards his mate. Kindness was a tiring affair Loki had little interest in, but he couldn’t have the winged-man up and die on him from something as pointless as starvation. That would be bad behavior for a mate, if, again, he was as such. 

 

That, and there was the small issue of Nymphs. 

 

Nymphs were creatures of legend, even for those as old as him. He still had bitter memories of the stories his mother told to him and his brother, of grand palaces, great halls open to the elements, homes built in trees and hanging vines, and their wings— _such beauty_ , she said, _to be found no where else in the Nine_. Loki remembered the night she explained their markings, and what they meant. How the hierarchy worked, and what marks were a sign of the royal Nymph family.At the time, Loki foolishly believed that every bird he found with a stripe or a splot of strange color—often just berry juice—was a Nymph, hidden in bird form to secure its safety. Of course, it was all childish dreams. The Nymphs were gone, and Loki had more important things to do than listen to fantasy about the dead. 

 

_Need.                                                                                                Neeeeed. Hungry._

 

 

Loki let his eyes lift from the page to fall on the pair of golden wings spread out across the floor. Each of the longest primary feathers ended with a dark band of red, that fanned out across the feathers like a line of blood. Just the line alone was interesting, but the small rings around a sigil near the upper joint made the markings _important_. Because, according to every story he found, every jotted note in Nymph history, every drawling passage about the kingdom’s imports and exports said the same thing. Those markings were royalty, and there were none quite like them. 

So, not only was Stark the first Nymph seen in thousands and thousands of years, he would be their _king_. 

 

And that sat uncomfortably on Loki’s chest for many reasons. 

 

One being that he could make a fortune selling Stark to the highest bidder. Just a thought for a rainy day. The other, of course, being the sickening familiarity of the situation.   
  
The last king of a dead or dying kingdom? Yes, he knew that story all too well.

 

Pushing a thumb against his lips, Loki studied the snoring man with more scrutiny. There was the possibility that this was all a ruse, that somehow, a mortal man discovered the secrets of a long-lost race and somehow imitated their wings and markings to… to… what purpose? 

 

Loki bit the edge of his thumb, scowling at his failure to find a well rounded reason for someone to do such a thing. Surely not to lay claim the Nymph kingdom? There was nothing left to claim, not these days. And, besides, Stark had a kingdom of his own, a small a thing as it was. There was no reason for him to craft such a lie, attach himself to Loki, and galavant off through the Nine realms whilst putting them both in danger because of those damned feathers of his. 

 

Not that he would be welcomed anywhere on his own, ever since his father posted a bounty on his head. Undoubtably thanks to Thor reporting the full extent of his actions on Midgard, the great berk. 

 

Oh, not that his own hidden markings rendered him very safe, either. 

 

Blood welled up in his mouth, and Loki let his thumb go with a soft curse. It was time to end his pointless musings, it was getting him nowhere but back to his original questions. And those? Those would have to wait. Right now, the snoring bird on the floor needed sustenance. 

 

* * *

 

 

_Good mate_ , the voice praised as Loki snuck down the alleyway to the back ends of the market. Scowling, he silently promised himself that he was only doing it because no one would buy a starved Nymph, king or not. 

 

The voice didn’t seem to care, and continued to sing and chirp happily while Loki gathered fresh bread, meats, and fruits for the man. And if Stark’s smile upon seeing his bounty made something grow warm and flutter in his chest, no one needed to know. 

 


End file.
